Cat and Mouse
by governmentcontractor
Summary: An FBI agent finds her life interwined with that of the turtles. Drama, action, romance ... Complete
1. Prologue

Title: Cat and Mouse

Author: Jayde

Rating: PG-13 for violence and language.

Summary: Angst, drama, violence. (Do I write anything else?) I have nothing against Law Enforcement professionals. They have a job to do. Sometimes human curiosity is a good thing, and sometimes it isn't.

Credits: Thanks to Sassy for the beta read.

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything, except Samantha, her partner Eric, and her NY Cop friend Dan. And even them, I'm perfectly willing to share.

Prologue:

"Do you have the tickets?"

"Yes, dear," the man said, his tone reflecting his frustration. The keyless entry beeped, echoing in the enclosed parking garage. The man opened the driver's side door, and slid up and into the seat of the dark red SUV. He yanked his own door closed, and adjusted the rearview mirror impatiently. The passenger door opened, and the harangue continued.

"I don't know why we have to leave so early. We have plenty of time," Cathy muttered, tugging her skirt down from the climb up into the monster vehicle. She patted her dark hair absently. She flipped down the visor, found the mirror, and checked her lipstick.

"I hate missing the start of the game," Darren retorted, ignoring his wife's preening. He dug the keys out of his jacket pocket, and thrust the right one in the ignition. He turned the key, and heard a strange buzzing.

Darren glanced at his wife in surprise, and then the world erupted in noise and flame.

-

Crouched on a rooftop across the street, four unusual guardians kept watch over the emergency vehicles racing to the scene. Acrid smoke rose into the air, blotting out the stars.

"There's nothing more we can do here," Leo noted softly, turning to his companions. Don stood behind him, his _bo_ clenched tightly in both fists. Every line in his body registered tension.

"This isn't right," Don hissed, his eyes narrowed to furious slits behind his mask.

"No one said it was, bro," Mikey responded from behind Don.

Don whirled on Mike. "We should have gone over there. I could have defused that bomb. Two people are dead, and we sat here and watched!" Silence descended on the rooftop, interrupted only by Don's angry staccato breathing.

"We're doing the best we can," Leo said firmly, rising to his feet. The half-moon lit him from behind, casting his face in shadow.

"Are we?" Raph questioned, leaning his shell against the wall of the rooftop entrance.

-


	2. 1

Title: Cat and Mouse

Author: Jayde

Rating: PG-13 for violence and language.

Summary: Angst, drama, violence. (Do I write anything else?) I have nothing against Law Enforcement professionals. They have a job to do. Sometimes human curiosity is a good thing, and sometimes it isn't.

Credits: Thanks to Sassy for the beta read.

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything, except Samantha, her partner Eric, and her NY Cop friend Dan. And even them, I'm perfectly willing to share.

Chapter 1:

Sometimes the job really sucked. Samantha walked around the blackened shell of what had once been a sport utility vehicle. Pale gray morning light filtered into the third floor of the parking structure, and revealed the scene. Scorch marks surrounded the vehicle on the floor, and spread across the low concrete ceiling.

"C4, just like the others," Eric reported, walking across the slanted white lines. Samantha looked up at her partner, and then turned troubled eyes back to the smoking ruin. The nearby cars had also sustained considerable damage, but no one had been inside them when the bomb went off.

A couple, on their way out for the evening, had stepped into their vehicle, and that had been the end of their lives. Catherine and Darren Peters, according to the parking lot's records. They had leased this space for the past two years.

"How many does this make now?" Samantha queried. The firefighters just leaving the scene glanced curiously at the two FBI agents. Eric, older and distinguished in his neatly pressed dark suit, and Samantha, looking too young to be with the bureau, in jeans and navy FBI jacket. Crime scene investigators were milling around the vehicle, taking pictures and picking up bits and pieces as evidence.

"Five bombings," Eric said, his voice neutral. "Nine victims." His cell phone rang – an irritating chirp in the early morning quiet. He jerked it out of his pocket, and answered. Samantha's attention drifted back to the vehicle. Eric brought her around with his announcement. "Got a possible location for our suspect."

-

The suspect was a man named Thomas Sykes. According to an anonymous police informant, their suspect had been seen going in and out of this warehouse. Which explained why Samantha was outside, her back pressed to the concrete wall, creeping around a corner and hoping she didn't get shot.

The building had been staked out for the last ten hours. Everyone thought it was the one, but Samantha had her doubts. No activity had been visible during those hours. And Thomas Sykes wasn't likely to be living here – the building was abandoned, and there was no electricity or running water.

Around the front, her partner and the NYPD were waiting to break in the front door. The FBI's jurisdiction on this case was questionable, but there was a psycho who had found a new hobby – blowing up cars. So far, there was no discernable pattern to the bombings, except that the cars were parked in public parking structures, and C4 – plastic explosive - had been used. Sam's assignment was to wait for someone, anyone, to try and get out the back and down this alley.

Four years with the bureau, and sometimes Samantha thought she had seen it all. But she hadn't, and that's what made the job attractive. She was always curious and wanting to know everything. Better than that was the possibility of making a difference. Making things safer.

The black sky above beckoned a look. A fine mist settled onto her face and hair, and the moisture in the air seemed to glitter from the light of the windows above.

She startled as something flowed across her vision that shouldn't be there.

A shadow passed between the buildings above her head; like someone jumping from one rooftop to another. She tightened her grip on the gun, and squinted up at the roofline.

The strange movement came again.

Convinced that this might be their quarry, she ran at the fire escape, and jumped for the ladder. She barely managed to snag it, and then rushed up the stairs, trying to be quiet on the metal steps and not succeeding. Reaching the top she peered over the ledge. The rooftop was quiet, so she slowly climbed on. Shuddering, she glanced down, once, and then forced eyes away from the drop.

God, she hated heights.

There! A figure leapt from this rooftop, to the next one. He was moving away from the warehouse. Samantha ran to the other side of the roof, and considered the distance. If that guy could make it, then maybe she could. Samantha holstered her gun under her jacket, and then stepped back to make a running start.

She landed less than gracefully on the next roof, slammingher right knee to the tarpaper. Samantha pulled her gun, panting, and checked the area. There was movement on the far side.

"Halt," Samantha shouted. The figure froze. "This is the F.B. ..."

Something smashed into her right side with the force of a small hurricane, knocking her flat. Samantha managed to keep from dropping her weapon, but that had seriously hurt. She twisted her body, coming up to a sitting position. One moment the gun in her hands, and the next it was gone. It clattered across the rooftop, and struck the ledge. Samantha rolled, trying to evade her unseen attacker. Her wrist throbbed with pain – it was likely broken. Someone had come out of the dark and kicked her hands.

She scrambled towards the air conditioning unit on the roof of the building. Samantha didn't make it far before a hand wrapped around her right ankle. She kicked back, but the hand tightened painfully. Bones ground together, and she cried out.

"Raph!"

The shout was a male voice, from the other side of the roof. The pressure on Samantha's ankle eased entirely. A moment later, she felt the weight of a body press down on her back, flattening her to the cold roof. A hand slid over her eyes, and pressed the side of her head firmly to the tarpaper. Freezing metal burned against her throat.

"If you want to live, then don't follow." Harsh words hissed into Samantha's right ear: A male voice, and very angry by the tone. He was up, and off of her, but she stayed prone. Her gun was gone. She waited, counting slowly to three, and then carefully pushed up, using her uninjured hand.

The rooftop was empty. A shout from the fire escape made her jump.

"Agent Gallagher? Are you up there?"

"Here," Samantha called back. She struggled to her feet, and limped to where the gun was resting. A uniform came over the ledge, and goggled at the FBI agent in shock.

"Jesus, what happened to you?"

"Good question," Samantha muttered, picking up her gun. She walked over to the opposite side of the roof. There was a large duffle bag sitting on the tarpaper, but she could have sworn it wasn't there before. She hunkered down cautiously, and gently pried the top open.

There were pale gray bricks stacked neatly inside.

"Officer, radio down that the explosives have been located," Samantha, instructed, her voice admirably calm considering she was crouched next to enough military grade C4 to blow up the entire block.

-

"Wow." Samantha's partner let out a low whistle as she peeled off her dark blue jacket with the large 'FBI' on the back. Her wrist was a disturbing shade of purple, and swollen. And it hurt like hell.

Through a rip at the right knee of her pants, a bloody scrape was visible. Samantha was dirty and disheveled. Her face was scratched where it had been pressed to the tarpaper.

"Can you give us a physical description of your assailant, Agent?" The plainclothes detective near the door to the treatment room was looking at his notepad. Samantha exchanged a glance with her partner.

"Not really," she confessed. The emergency room doctor came in, and started fussing over her wrist.

"What did you see, Sam?" Eric, Samantha's partner, was standing nearby, getting in the doctor's way.

"Can't this wait? We need to do x-rays," the doctor complained, circling around the exam table and frowning at the three law enforcement officers.

"It was dark. The guy - there were two of them on the roof, but only one attacked me - I never got a good look at him." Samantha ignored the doctor.

"Weapon?" The plainclothes was still looking at his notepad.

"A, um, knife of some sort, but I never saw it," Sam said. Now the detective looked up. Samantha's partner covered his mouth. If he laughed, she thought, she would shoot him.

"A knife," the plainclothes was looking at her like she had lost her mind.

"Any head injuries?" Eric asked the doctor over Samantha's head.

"I would know, if I could treat the patient," the doctor said, miffed.

"Okay," the detective near the door said, flipping his pad closed. "We can continue this later." He walked out the door, and past the treatment window to the admitting desk.

"A knife. That's all you've got?" Eric still looked a little amused.

"I never saw him," Samantha responded. "No eye color, no hair color, no nothing." She shifted uncomfortably on the table as the doctor poked at her cheek. "He was really strong, but I couldn't tell you how tall he was."

The doctor shone a little light into Sam's eyes, making her flinch, and then turned away to give instructions to a nurse. "X-ray for the wrist and the possible fractured rib, head CT, and clean the abrasions."

"It was like fighting a shadow." Samantha rubbed at her eyes with her left hand.

"Get fixed up, and get some sleep. I'll get a statement from you in the morning, Sam." Eric patted Sam's shoulder awkwardly, and left the room. He hitched his pants up, and tugged his suit jacket over his protruding stomach. Eric could stand to cut down on the pastries. Then he could chase guys across rooftops, Sam thought, and she could stand around and look important.

"Ready," the nurse said, bringing over a tray of torture implements.

"Ready," Samantha sighed.

-

In an alley not far from the hospital, another round of questioning was going on.

"Where's the bag?" Don queried sharply when Raph and Mike swung into view around the corner. Raph leapt over a pile of discarded boards, and landed lightly in front of Don.

"We left it … for the cops," Mike replied, panting from exertion. He bent over, and fought to regain his breath. Mike stared around at the graffiti on the walls of the alley where his brothers had stopped.

Leo frowned in annoyance. This was nothing to toy with. They had managed to remove pounds of plastic explosive from the warehouse. It wouldn't do for that kind of thing to wind up in the wrong hands – again.

"You didn't lose it, did you?" Leo's eyes were narrowed suspiciously at the pair. Raph glared at Leo. What kind of a screwed up question was that?

"We didn't lose it," Mike said fiercely. "The police have it, okay?" He had straightened up, and stepped up to Leo. They were squared off, and on the edge of a fight.

"Mike …," Leo warned, slipping into a defensive stance.

"Leo, drop it, will ya," Raph interrupted, stepping between his brothers. "We did it. We got the explosives, and we left it where the cops could find it." He gave Mike's plastron a shove, pushing him away from Leo.

Leo turned at a noise from the opening to the alley. Sirens screamed up the street, and all four brothers slipped unconsciously into the concealing shadows.

"Did they get him?" Mike asked when the police car had passed. He had stayed near the wall, and he was simply a voice from under the fire escape.

Leo shook his head, looking seriously pissed. "We did everything but put a neon sign over him, but they missed him." They had found the man by accident – he had been hiding explosives in warehouses in their territory, and it didn't take much to put it all together with the bombings that were terrorizing the city.

"Damn cops," Raph snarled, ready to get into Leo's face. "We should just take care of it ourselves."

"As I'm so often reminded, we're not vigilantes. We should get back," Don noted softly. Leo's expression smoothed out, and he turned and headed up the alley, expecting the others to follow. Donnie slipped his bo onto his shell, and hurried behind his brother.

"Hey," Raph said quietly, catching Mike's arm as Mike stepped out of the dark. "Thanks for coverin'."

"Don't make a habit of it, dickhead," Mike responded shortly. He gave Raph a shove, barely rocking him. "Come on. Let's go home."

-


	3. 2

Title: Cat and Mouse

Author: Jayde

Rating: PG-13 for violence and language.

Summary: Angst, drama, violence. (Do I write anything else?) I have nothing against Law Enforcement professionals. They have a job to do. Sometimes human curiosity is a good thing, and sometimes it isn't.

Credits: Thanks to Sassy for the beta read.

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything, except Samantha, her partner Eric, and her NY Cop friend Dan. And even them, I'm perfectly willing to share.

Chapter 2:

Everything is a little more annoying with a broken wrist. And it had to be her right wrist. Nothing else would do.

Samantha struggled gamely with the Styrofoam takeout container, slipping it awkwardly out of the bag and onto her small, wood kitchen table. She decided to splurge, and retrieved a real fork from the drawer, eschewing the plastic cutlery provided by the restaurant. One handed, she tugged the top up on the container, and settled into her chair. The smell of Pad Thai drifted up, and made her mouth water.

She was hungry, so someone had to knock on the door. Sam groaned, and clambered out of her chair. She stumbled, and hit her shoulder on the doorframe while passing into the living room. The broken wrist was throwing off her center of gravity.

Yanking open the front door, Sam found her neighbor standing outside.

"Hello, Samantha," Richard said, smiling mildly down at her. Samantha took a deep breath, and summoned a friendly tone of voice.

"Mr. Adams. What can I do for you?"

His head turned from side to side. "Italian?" He queried.

"Thai, Mr. Adams." It was a game they had played ever since Sam had moved in. Mr. Adams would stop by each evening that she was home, and he would try to guess what she was eating for dinner based on the smell. Sam leaned against the doorframe, and hoped her dinner wouldn't get cold. "Do you need to go for groceries this weekend?"

He nodded, his smile widening. "You're a good neighbor, Samantha. I'll see you on Saturday. Enjoy that Thai food." Richard turned away from the door, and trailed his fingertips along the wall as he headed back to his apartment.

Sam shook her head as she watched him re-enter his apartment. She shut her door gently, and returned to her meal.

-

A bottle of water flew through the air, and landed with a satisfying smack in Raphael's right hand.

"No beer?" Raph asked, his left eye ridge quirking up.

"You drank it all, you lush," Mike rejoined. A small smile played over his mouth, and then vanished at the sound of the argument that had started as soon as they reached the sewers.

Leo and Don entered the kitchen in mid-squabble. "This is something for the proper authorities to handle," Leo said in a tone that indicated he had said this many, many times before and was maybe tired of saying it again.

"How many more people are going to die while we sit by and watch," Don questioned. A sarcastic tone had crept in to their brother's normal calm. Don slammed a chair back from the table, and sat down. Mike held up a bottle of water, but Don shook his head.

"Don't you realize how suspicious it would look if the bomber just vanished? Poof, he's gone. No more trouble," Leo argued. He had moved to the opposite side of the table, and he had a death grip on the back of the chair there. "What, you think they'll give you a medal for eliminating the problem, Donnie?"

Don glowered across the scarred table at his brother. "Don't you dare patronize me, Leo."

Leo leaned forward over the chair, and tried to relax his hands a little. The wood was digging into his palms. Leo fought to regain a little bit of neutrality and calm. He wasn't used to having to defend himself to Don. It was Raph who questioned his authority, but Raph was staying out of this for some reason. He was on the sidelines with Mike, just observing.

Taking a deep breath, Leo tried again. "You tell me then, Don. Where's the line?"

Don opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it, his expression thoughtful.

"It's wherever we say it is," Raph offered, taking a large gulp of water. He met Leo's disgusted glance with a smirk.

"No, Leo's got a point," Don interjected. Leo suppressed a smile or any other outward sign of relief. Logic would always appeal to Don. "There is a line somewhere between what we should do and what we could do."

Leo sighed, and bent his head for a moment, releasing the tension in his neck. "I'm glad we've worked this out."

"I didn't say I agree with you," Don replied, dashing Leo's hopes. Leo raised his eyes, and they shared a look that indicated there was a distance greater than the table between them right now. "There is a line, but you _are_ wrong in its location." Don stood up, and left the kitchen. Leo sighed, and spun the chair a round. He sat down, and rested his head on the back of the chair.

"Damn," Raph breathed. "Wish there was still some beer." Mike nodded solemnly in agreement.

-

"So they're not investigating" Dan sounded incredulous. Samantha didn't blame him. It had sounded nuts to her, too. To be told that it had nothing to do with their case had led Sam to go it alone in her search for the mystery guys from the roof.

"I didn't have enough for them to go on, but you know the area, Dan." He did. Dan had been with the NYPD for the past five years. They had both left college for criminal justice careers. Samantha had kept in touch with her old friend, even when their paths diverged.

"I don't know, Sam. No physical description; no weapons ... What exactly does this have to do with the guy who's blowing up cars?" Dan looked around the small coffee shop. It was almost completely devoid of customers at this hour of the morning. Only two other people were sitting at a table on the other side of the room.

"Nothing, as far as we can tell. But these guys found the explosives, and got them out. And one of them beat the crap out of me." Sam leaned forward, awkwardly resting her cast on the table. Her wrist didn't hurt so much now, thanks to good drugs from the hospital. "They know something about this 'mad bomber' character, and I'd like to find out more." Dan sat back, and looked up at the ceiling for a bit. Samantha bit her lip and let him think on it.

"Several years ago," he started, speaking slowly as though dredging up something from deep in his memory. "There were reports of a gang war - involving gangs from Japan."

Sam nodded at him to go on when he glanced at her. She pushed up her glasses with one finger.

"They were called, 'The Foot'," he continued. "I would have to look up the associated case files for details, but the gist of it involved a battle for leadership and territory."

"What makes you think it connects to my assailant?"

"The fighting style that you described," Dan explained, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. He scrubbed at his short black hair with a distracted hand. "The speed of the attack, and your inability to see him. It points to ninjitsu."

"Ninj ..." Sam struggled with the unfamiliar word.

"Ninjitsu: the art of invisibility. A collection of martial arts."

"So you think it might be this Foot gang?" Samantha sipped at her Chai.

"It's possible. I'm going to look at some old case files, and then we can meet again." Dan stood up, and wrestled his trench coat on. "What are you going to do?"

"A little hunting. I still have to catch the guy who's blowing up cars."

-

Raphael was contemplating his career as a watchdog. Following the bomber around, keeping track of his hiding places, and occasionally sniffing out the guy's explosives – seemed like the job of a well-trained house pet.

He paused for a moment, and considered his route. The bomber had moved to a different apartment building. Not far from the last one. This guy liked the area. He was sticking around. With a sour expression, the turtle looked across the street at the warehouse where the bomber had been keeping his stash. The cops had been so close to getting him that time, but they had let the guy slip through their fingers.

Don had the right idea. His argument made more sense to Raphael than Leo's concerns about exposing themselves. They were in the position to prevent more deaths. Raph didn't think the cops would look too hard for the murderer of a nut who had killed so many people.

And if they looked, so what? The cops had never caught them before. Leo was meditating too much on it. It was time to go with the gut. This time, Raph was pretty sure Leo was in the wrong. It didn't happen that often, he grudgingly realized, but even Donnie was against Leo on this one. They should just finish it.

Raph gripped his sai, and debated just doing it. It would be so easy to slip over to the vacant apartment building, find the right unit, and skewer the psycho in his sleep. No one would shed any tears.

He dived inside the idea and swam around for a while. It was warm and comfortable and easy.

Movement on a rooftop across the street caught his eye, driving him in a different direction.

-

Sometimes you have to go backwards to go forwards. The area where the stakeout had been was desolate, dark, and it would take a miracle to track anyone through this warren of closed shops and ancient warehouses. Samantha stopped on the sidewalk, and with difficulty twisted her hair back into a rough ponytail. Half a block up, she slipped into the alley. The first fire escape she came to didn't look very safe. The steps were leaning drunkenly to one side, but that wouldn't dissuade her.

First making sure her gun was securely in the holster, Sam started up the side of the building. The metal creaked alarmingly, but didn't give way under her weight. She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the roof in one piece.

Sam walked the perimeter of the roof, peering in every direction for any sign of motion. Nothing, of course, appeared in her line of vision. She sat down on a crate, and kept watch.

While she waited, she went back over the details of the case. For the last three weeks, someone had been blowing up cars in parking garages. That someone was probably Thomas Sykes. He had parked in all the locations during the times of the bombings. He had military experience defusing bombs – which meant he knew how to build them as well. It was the 'why' that still eluded her. Why kill these innocent people? Was he a serial killer? Or was he making some kind of obscure political statement? She shook her head, and concentrated on the skyline.

Sam glanced nervously over at the edge of the roof. She still hated heights.

About an hour into Sam's personal stakeout, she saw motion across the street. Something had jumped from one rooftop to the next. She stood up to get a better look. The moon was nearly full, and there was no cloud cover. This was her best opportunity possible to see what that was.

Whatever it was, it was green. Or it was wearing green clothes.

Sam stepped over to the ledge to see more clearly. Definitely someone. He, it, had leaped to the next roof down in an astounding display of aerial acrobatics. He didn't land on the next roof in a skidding stop – he flipped neatly onto his feet. Who was this?

There was something tied around his head. Something like a mask: red, with long tails flapping behind him. Across the deserted street, he suddenly turned and spotted Sam. She stepped back, realizing she had no cover up here at all. Her instincts screamed at her to get the hell off the roof.

She spun and ran for the decrepit fire escape. Scrambling down it as quickly as she dared, she dropped to the alley with a jarring thud. Sam glanced at the end of the alley in time to see a shadow slip in from the direction of the green guy. She ran the other direction.

Heading for safety, Samantha pounded down the sidewalk. There was a strip another block up. There would be people and cars there. Sam couldn't hear any pursuit over the sound of her own harsh breathing, but she didn't dare stop or turn around. She turned the corner at breakneck speed, and caught a light pole to halt her flight. Sam paused, panting, under the streetlight. She looked behind. Just outside the circle of light, stood a figure. Eyes glittered behind a red mask.

"The apartment buildin' across the street," he said in a low, growling voice.

"What?" Sam could barely grasp what he was saying. His eyes – they were too large, and the wrong shape.

"The guy you're lookin' for. He's there." The mystery man moved back, and the dark swallowed him whole. Sam started, and reached belatedly for her gun, but he was gone.

-


	4. 3

Title: Cat and Mouse

Author: Jayde

Rating: PG-13 for violence and language.

Summary: Angst, drama, violence. (Do I write anything else?) I have nothing against Law Enforcement professionals. They have a job to do. Sometimes human curiosity is a good thing, and sometimes it isn't.

Credits: Thanks to Sassy for the beta read.

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything, except Samantha, her partner Eric, and her NY Cop friend Dan. And even them, I'm perfectly willing to share.

Author's Notes: Thanks go Sassy, Kristy99, pacphys, and BubblyShell for the reviews. I hope I'm updating quickly enough for everyone.

Chapter 3:

"Cops are stupid," Raphael snarled, storming into Don's workspace, and slamming a stool aside. Normally, Raph didn't like it in here. The steady hum of machines irritated him in a way. The sound got under his shell.

Don set his keyboard down, and sat up straight. "Do you mind – I don't want my equipment destroyed just now."

"They're going to miss him again," Raphael raged, slamming his fists onto the worktable. Don's tools jumped, and clattered down, some of them spilling onto the floor. Leo stuck his head in the door, alarmed.

"What the …" Leo began, his eyes wide with surprise behind his mask.

"Do we have to lead them by the hair to the right place?" Raphael continued furious. He turned, looking for a new outlet for his rage. Leo stepped in, and put a restraining hand on Raph's shoulder. Raph violently shrugged Leo off. Leo, unbalanced, fell back against the bookshelf, knocking a stack of magazines to the floor.

"What is your problem this time, Raph?" The combative brothers froze at this outburst from Don. He was still in his chair at the computer, but his expression was ferocious.

"The cops. I tipped 'em to the bomber's new location, but they didn't listen," Raph responded, stunned into an actual explanation.

"They won't just blindly follow us," Leo said, rubbing his right shoulder uncomfortably. He had connected with the bookshelf - hard. "They have no reason to."

Raph huffed impatiently. "So what do we do, then? Wait for another car bomb to go off?"

"According to Leo, yes," Don said dryly. Leo scowled at the back of Don's head as Don turned back to his computer. "Who is the cop that you gave the information to?"

"I dunno. Some girl with an FBI jacket."

Don spun back, and his eyes went round with shock. "Are you kidding me? The FBI?"

"Yeah. That's what it said on her jacket." Raph shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Don and Leo were staring at him, and it was setting his nerves on edge. "What?"

"Did she see you?" Leo asked, his voice tight with worry.

-

"Samantha Gallagher." Sam held the phone to her ear distractedly, as she attempted to type with one hand. Inwardly, she was cursing her broken wrist. It made it nearly impossible to get her reports finished.

"Sam! What is this email you sent me?"

Sam glanced around the office before answering. She didn't want her partner to know she was working anything on the side.

"Dan, it's exactly what I said. I saw a mysterious guy last night, and he was green," she whispered, turning her attention away from the computer and to her conversation.

"Like a leprechaun," Dan said blandly in her ear. Sam rubbed at her forehead, frustrated, and brushed stray hair out of her face.

"Taller than a leprechaun, and wearing a mask." Sam heard something thud on the other end of the line. "Dan, are you still there?"

"A mask? And he was dressed in green?" Dan sounded strangely excited.

"Yes! Do you have any idea …"

"Sam, we've gotta go," Eric shouted from just behind her, causing her to jump in her chair. She spun to look at her partner. Around her, other agents were charging out the door. "The bomber – he hit two police cars in mid town."

"I've got to go, Dan. I'll talk to you tonight. The usual place," Sam said rapidly into the phone. She hung up before Dan could say anything else, and grabbed her jacket on her way out.

-

A freezing rain had turned the streets into a skating rink for cars. Inside the parking garage, they were protected from the icy sting of the downpour, but the wind still whipped through. Eric had his coat wrapped tightly around his torso, and his hands were jammed into his pockets. He was nearly shivering with cold.

Beside him, Samantha seemed oblivious to the unpleasant conditions. Her eyes were filled with the sight of the two police cruisers – now shattered.

"They all had families," the police captain growled, his shoulders shaking with fury. The uniformed man paced restlessly in front of the damaged cars. "Who the hell could get in here and do this?" He continued to storm back and forth, cursing randomly at those investigating the crime. Broad daylight, or as light as it could get with the rain – how had the bomber managed it?

Samantha wandered away from the scene, and found the security office. Crime scene investigators were already there, running through the tapes.

"Wait," Sam interrupted, pointing at one of the monitors. A shaggy haired man was near the police cruisers, and wearing a cop's uniform. He was looking right into the camera. "Advance it," she ordered. The tape started again, and the man waved cheerily at the camera.

Thomas Sykes. And he was playing with them.

-

"We can't follow him during the day."

"I'm aware of that, Don," Leo retorted, trying to calm his frustration.

"He has almost no online record. His data footprint is incredibly small. No bank accounts, no credit cards – his military records are sealed." Don jabbed his fork down and stabbed a meatball viciously.

"He's a ghost," Mike added, sliding into his seat, and setting a plate full of spaghetti in front of his spot at the table.

"The cops got more than we do, right? They have his name, and they can get his records," Raph pointed out, waving his garlic bread for emphasis before taking a bite.

"They seem to have him as a suspect, but they're not doing much to track him down," Don noted, cutting his meatball into smaller pieces with his fork.

"You have done what you are able, my sons," Splinter said evenly.

"Yes, Master Splinter," Leo agreed, but his expression was troubled.

"We could put a stop to it," Don said, his tone faintly questioning – asking for permission.

"This is a matter for the law, Donatello," Splinter reprimanded gently. "We must wait for the humans to intercede." Considering the matter closed, he turned to Mike. "An excellent meal, as always, Michaelangelo."

Don pushed his spaghetti around on the plate, creating interesting patterns for himself. He had lost his appetite.

-

"So, what did you find?" Samantha said, slipping into the booth hours later. Her expression was grim, and she had dark circles ringing her eyes.

"Jesus," Dan said, his smile of welcome slipping away. "When did you last sleep?"

"I don't remember," Sam confessed. She looked at the manila folder Dan had in front of him on the table.

The waitress arrived, and Sam ordered tea with honey. Once the waitress was gone, Sam continued. "I need a lead, Dan. What do you know about my green man?"

Dan opened the file folder, and spun it around on the table. Sam took a pair of glasses out of her bag, and slid them on.

"There was a fire, and apparently a gang fight, about 11 years ago at this address," Dan started. The waitress walked up and set down the tea. Sam stirred it, and nodded for Dan to go on with his story. "Reports from the area included descriptions of men in green costumes fleeing the scene."

Sam's eyebrows shot up at this.

"There are similar reports from the same neighborhood stretching over a ten year period. The most recent report is from last year." Dan sat back triumphantly. Sam pulled the file closer, and flipped through the pages.

The reports were all fairly similar. The owner of a small grocery store had given a report about four aliens saving his business. The Purple Dragon gang had been after him for protection money, but green creatures put a stop to it. Another page was a purse snatching - some men dressed in green costumes had rescued the woman. They returned her purse, and escorted her to the police station.

Samantha paused in her reading. These guys were trying to help. If only she could find them, then they might give her the information she needed. They had given it to her before, but the wheels of the machinery moved so slowly.

"April O'Neil was the property owner? Any way to contact her?" Sam sipped at her tea distractedly. The waitress had forgotten the honey.

"April Jones as of a couple years ago, and she has the same address now."

Sam glanced at her watch. It was about 8 p.m. A little late to stop by, but there was a chance to catch a lead. She drew her wallet from her bag, and selected a five-dollar bill. She dropped it on the table next to her cup with one hand, and then gathered up the file.

"Thanks, Dan," Sam said, meaning it, and rising to her feet.

The building she needed wasn't far from here. Three blocks, and then she would see what she could find out from Mrs. Jones.

-

"Your turn to wash, bro," Mike notified Don. Mike observed his brother with mounting dismay. While Don was always thinking, he wasn't in the habit of stewing over something with this level of intensity. "Donnie?"

"Yeah," Don said distractedly, and stood up. He moved to the sink like he ran on batteries, and started running hot water. After a moment of reflection, he squeezed some soap in, and started working on the plates.

"You okay?" Mike inquired, his tone gentle. He gathered up a dishtowel, and stood next to Don.

"I don't know how to get Leo to listen to reason," Don confessed as he handed a wet plate to Mike.

Mike took the plate, and dried it carefully. Splinter had complained about the enormous number of plates that were broken every week. "That's a sentence I never though I would hear," Mike said ruefully. He glanced over at Don, and offered a small smile. "Leo needing to listen to reason."

Don summoned a half-smile in response.

"Seriously, bro, it's creepy to watch you two fight," Mike continued. His voice had gone husky with some emotion that Don couldn't put a name to. Mike shrugged self-consciously at Don's concerned stare. "I mean, Leo and Raph get into it every other day, but you and Leo … you're not supposed to be like this."

"It'll be okay, Mikey," Don reassured, handing another plate over. White suds coated his hands and forearms. He grabbed up a pile of cutlery and started washing.

"Just don't do anything crazy," Mike said, setting down the dry plate on top of the other on the counter. "Please?"

"Raph is the one who does the crazy," Don retorted, rinsing the pile of forks and knives. "Warn _him_. Here," Don handed the jumble of silverware to Mike. "Hey, and be careful of the knives."

Mike frowned at the pile wrapped in his dishtowel, and then shook his head at Don. "Whatever, bro. I can handle knives." A fork slipped free and crashed to the floor. Both jumped back, avoiding injury to their feet. "It's the forks I can't handle," Mike continued, setting the dry cutlery on top of the counter, and bending to retrieve the errant fork.

-

'Second Time Around' – Sam wondered, looking up at the sign over the door, if that was referring to anyone's marital state. Samantha pressed the call button at the front door, and waited for a response. After a few moments, during which she looked nervously up and down the empty street, a female voice came over the speaker.

"Yes."

Pressing the button again, Sam spoke into the speaker box. "I'm looking for April Jones. Police business."

The security door buzzed, and Sam caught the handle and opened it. A few short flights of stairs, and she was outside the Jones apartment. Sam knocked, and squared her shoulders, trying to look professional despite her messed hair and filthy tennis shoes. The door opened to reveal an attractive woman, a little taller than Samantha.

"April Jones?" When the woman nodded, Sam gave her the government-issue smile. "I'm Special Agent Samantha Gallagher." Sam held up her identification. "May I come in? I need to ask you a few questions."

April Jones studied the photo identification with something like surprise or fear. "I … may I ask what this is about?"

"It's about the fire 11 years ago," Sam answered promptly, watching April's face for any telltale emotions. Her attention was rewarded with concern, surprise, and then reasonably calm again. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Mrs. Jones replied, and opened the door wide.

-


	5. 4

Title: Cat and Mouse

Author: Jayde

Rating: PG-13 for violence and language.

Summary: Angst, drama, violence. (Do I write anything else?) I have nothing against Law Enforcement professionals. They have a job to do. Sometimes human curiosity is a good thing, and sometimes it isn't.

Credits: Thanks to Sassy for the beta read.

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything, except Samantha, her partner Eric, and her NY Cop friend Dan. And even them, I'm perfectly willing to share.

Chapter 4:

"Thanks, April. Thanks for calling." She was still talking, but Leo's mind was elsewhere. The F.B.I. That was the big time. He was going to kill Raphael, and dump his remains in the deepest, darkest section of the sewer. "Yeah, I'll let them know. Thanks again, April. Take care, and say hi to Casey." Leo hung up forcefully, and struggled to think of what to do next.

"What is it?" Don. Leo thought either he was psychic, or he overheard the telephone conversation.

"We've got trouble," Leo replied, deadly serious tone of voice.

"What kind?" Mike said, strolling in from the direction of the kitchen. He froze in place when he met Leo's ferocious scowl, then started backing away slowly.

"Don't you even try to vanish, Mikey," Leo warned, his voice cold.

"Hey, guys," Mike said, trying to cover for his attempted escape. "What's up?"

"The F.B.I. paid April a little visit," Leo said tightly. Mike dropped the soda can he was holding. It hit the floor and exploded like a caffeine-filled bomb.

"Shit," Mike cried out in surprise. "Sorry." He looked at the mess with horror.

Raph tore into the room, weapons out, and looked around for any sign of trouble. He skidded to a halt near Don. "What the hell, Mikey?" Mike looked incredibly guilty, but maybe not for the soda explosion.

Leo was looking back and forth between Raph and Mike like they were playing ping-pong. "I would like some answers," Leo said through gritted teeth. "And I'd like them now."

"It's that woman from the rooftop," Mike said anxiously. "That redhead you fought with Raph. She had on a jacket that said FBI on the back."

"Tell me you didn't attack a federal agent," Leo said. His eyes were wide with shock.

"I'll take care of it," Raph snarled, shoving his sai back into his belt.

"Don, go with him," Leo ordered. "See if you can keep the other security agencies from finding out about us."

-

Mrs. Jones, April, had been a very interesting interview. She had been cautious, but when Sam started asking about green costumed men, April had proven what a bad liar she was.

Sam walked back to her car. She was on the right trail. She could feel it.

Motion caught her eye in an alley across the street. Sam stopped dead still, and stared. Someone was in there. A flash of green came and went so quickly she almost didn't register it.

The 'right trail', indeed.

Samantha dashed across the street, and entered the alley. Her eyes darted every which way, searching for some sign of her quarry. The ground was littered with paper, cans, and bits of garbage. A dumpster hugged the brick wall to one side, the lid mercifully shut, but she could still smell it. It wasn't cold enough, yet, to freeze that stench away.

The streetlight cast her shadow onto the concrete. She stopped and listened. No sound reached her ears save the wind as it whipped around the buildings. She was anxious to find this guy … creature … but she wasn't going to _die_ for it. Cautiously, she pushed one side of her jacket back, and slid a hand towards her gun.

She never got a finger on the grip. The world spun, and she was abruptly pressed to the wall, the brick scraping against her cheek. Her hands were ruthlessly pinned behind her back in a harsh grip. Her injured wrist screamed in agony. The temporary cast rubbed against her good hand.

"Listen," Sam started, breathless with surprise and pain.

"No," her attacker snarled in her ear. "You listen."

Sam twisted violently, trying to throw him off. He grunted, and slammed her against the brick with incredible force. Her teeth clicked together, catching part of her tongue. Sam flinched from the bite.

"You do _not_ want to screw with me," he warned, firming up his hold. He leaned in and pressed his weight against Sam. Her breathing was shallow – she didn't have room to draw air.

"I don't mean you any harm." Sam's reassurances were made in a voice barely above a whisper. His low chuckle cut her off.

"No? But maybe I mean you harm," he breathed, ruffling the hair near her ear.

"Raph, knock it off," came a second voice from further away. The one pinning her, Raph, backed off a bit. Sam couldn't see either of them. Her face was pressed to the brick, and her view was of the dead end of the alley. "Agent Gallagher, why are you looking for us?"

"The bomber – I need his location," Sam pleaded, gritting her teeth against the pain. "You know something."

"We've given it to you before – you idiots lost him," Raph complained. He tightened his grip on Sam's hands, and she let out a pained cry.

"Raph, ease up," Don said sharply. "Why the rush to get him now?"

"He killed four cops today," she hissed.

Raph and Don exchanged a startled glance behind her back. Raph let go of her hands, and stepped back. Cautiously, she turned and pressed her shoulders against the brick wall. In the faint light, she stared at the two large, green creatures.

"What are you?" She whispered, her eyes wide as saucers.

"Mutants," Don answered. "Turtles. Your bomber is nearby. Are you going to call for backup?"

Backup. If she called it in, Sam thought, then she'd have to explain how she knew where the suspect was. And during the interminable wait, he might move on. She shook her head and straightened from the wall. "No. Let's go."

Don's eye ridges rose. "You're not going to do this alone, are you?" He observed the way she was holding her wrist close to her chest – it was obviously paining her.

"We'll go with you," Raph said firmly. He plucked a sai from his belt, and spun it with impressive dexterity. "You got all the backup you need."

-

She found herself in a unique situation. Running with these unusual individuals as they passed from one shadow to the next, Samantha began to realize what Ninjitsu was, and how they had avoided detection. They arrived at a dark and, by appearances, empty brownstone.

"This?" She whispered the question to Don. He nodded, and pointed at the side door. Raph went first, and jimmied the door with his sai. They slipped into the dark hallway, Raph, then Sam, and finally Don.

Sam held her gun in her good hand, and took a deep breath. Pressed between the two turtles, she waited for some sign or sound. Above their heads, the floor creaked. Don nudged her shoulder, and pointed up when he had her attention. She nodded, and they approached the stairs cautiously. Raph stopped on the first step, and pointed toward the front of the building. Don took the hint, and grasped Sam's arm to hold her back. Don motioned towards the front door with his head. Sam hesitated, and Don's eyes, behind his mask, narrowed to slits.

Sam swallowed. If anyone had told her that a big turtle would be capable of scaring her with a facial expression, she wouldn't have believed it – before. She nodded, and Don led the way to another set of stairs. They started up, and paused at the second floor. From ahead came the sound of something scraping against the floor.

Raph appeared ahead, and waved them down the hall. Don caught his bo out of the holder on his shell, and hurried down the hall. Sam trailed behind until they reached a closed door for one of the apartments. Raph pointed to the door, and mimed kicking it in.

Don nodded, and Raph slammed his foot into the door. It flew open and banged into the wall. The turtles dived inside. Sam went to follow, but she was brought to a halt by Don's hand reaching back and catching her uninjured arm.

"Wait," he said. Across an empty living room sat an old kitchen table. On top, was what appeared to be a large wad of C4, all rigged up to explode?

"Shit," Raph cursed softly. He turned the corner to check the rest of the apartment. A moment later there were sounds of a scuffle, and then Raph appeared dragging a shaggy haired man by the arm. "We need some restraints here."

Recovering from her shock, Sam dug out her handcuffs, and tossed them to Raph. He shoved the bomber into a wooden chair near the table, and cuffed the bomber's hands behind his back.

"This is on a timer," Don noted, leaning over the table and studying the bomb.

"Donnie," Raph started. The bomber grinned from his seat in the chair, his eyes glittering through the mass of hair. Don glanced at him, and decided that the guy probably wasn't going to be any help.

"This thing is set to go off in less than fifteen minutes," Don continued. "There's enough explosive here to destroy this building, and probably the one next door."

"The building next door is occupied," Sam whispered. The bomber giggled – a high-pitched and grating sound.

"Can you …," Raph waved his hands at the bomb vaguely. "You know, do your thing and turn it off?"

"Yeah," Don said, distracted. He slipped his bag over his head, and set it on the floor. He unzipped it, and pulled out a pair of wire cutters. "Piece of cake."

-

Red and blue lights flashed, making Sam squint. The street was filled with cars and vans and fire trucks. A small crowd had gathered across the street to observe the chaos, along with a good-sized contingent of the local press.

"So you just … guessed on the location," Eric, her partner, offered darkly. They were leaning against Eric's car. Samantha sighed, and shook her head tiredly. "That's your whole story?"

"That's my whole story," Samantha said firmly. She held her wrist against her chest, and watched as the NYPD brought the bomber out of the apartment building.

"Aliens! Little green men from mars!" The bomber shouted wildly, jerking at his restraints. The cops around him pulled him along less than gently towards a waiting car. The bomb squad was upstairs, but they would be done dismantling before too much longer. Don had completed most of the work before he left.

Vanished. Disappeared. They had left her here when she called in the report.

"You're going to have some serious questions to answer, Sam," Eric sneered. He shifted his collar up to protect himself from the wind, and walked away. Sam shrugged at his retreating form, and straightened from the car. Whatever. She rubbed at her eyes. It had been days since she had slept, and it would be many, many hours of paperwork to sum up the capture for her superiors. And somewhere in there she had to find a story everyone would believe. A story that didn't include mutated turtles.

-

Don tiredly ran a hand over his face, and rubbed at his jaw. Almost home, he turned the corner, and slammed into something hard. The strap crossing his torso was caught by thick fingers, and Don found himself hurled back against the brick side of the tunnel.

"What did you do?" Leo snarled, pinning Don to the wall. Don struggled for a moment to recover his equilibrium and come up with an answer.

"We took care of it," Raph replied evenly. He had moved close up to Leo's right shoulder. He wasn't trying to get in the middle – yet.

"Leo …," Don started, his hands wrapping over Leo's to attempt to pry Leo's fingers off.

"Were you seen?"

Mike watched as Leo's question prompted Raph and Don to share a fairly guilty look. "Oh, shit," Mike mumbled. Leo's eyes squeezed shut. His arms were shaking as he held Don against the wall. "Leo, man, let him go. Damage has already been done."

With a final shove, Leo released Don and turned away from them. He paused in a wide leg stance, his hands curled into fists and resting on his hips. Leo brought his breathing under control, and tried to find a place to put his fury. "Who?" He asked at last.

"The FBI agent," Don answered. He shifted cautiously away from the wall, and jerked his strap back into position. Don's heart rate was returning to normal now. For a moment – just a second or two – he had been convinced that Leo was going to kill him.

"I can take care of it," Raph suggested.

"No," Leo snapped, turning his head to level a hawk-like stare at Don. "Don gets to fix this."

Donatello nodded, acknowledging his responsibility.

"Let's go home, okay bros?" Mike attempted. He scanned each of his brothers. They stood apart from each other. Divided.

-

Steam curled up from the bowl as soon as she peeled back the cover. The soup smelled wonderful. Sam debated getting a bowl, and then decided she would eat it straight out of the take out carton.

The knock at the door was completely predictable. She slid the lid back over the soup, and walked to the door. Opening it, she found Richard standing outside.

"Is that chili?" He asked even before she had a chance to offer a greeting.

"No, Mr. Adams. It's chicken noodle," Sam responded.

"I thought I heard a man in here. Have you got company for dinner Samantha?"

Sam was relieved that he was blind. Her cheeks had flushed at the mention of 'men' in her home. Thin walls. She would have to remember that in the future.

"Must have been the television," Sam offered lamely. It hadn't been the TV, but Mr. Adams didn't need to know that a large turtle had stopped by to visit her. He had scared her half to death, slipping in from her balcony while she had been flipping on lights, and stripping off her jacket and shoes. She had turned around, and he was standing there, his staff in his right hand.

"You should get out sometimes, Samantha," Mr. Adams instructed, heading back to his own apartment. "All work and no play, you know."

"I'll work on that," Sam muttered, amused.

-

"You refuse to reveal your source of information, Agent."

"_We wanted to give you a warning," Don intoned when she turned to find him in her apartment. Her heart had been hammering in her chest – was this a threat?_

Samantha Gallagher sat on the edge of the chair, and nervously swallowed before nodding an affirmative. The review board frowned at her collectively. She tugged at her skirt – damned thing just wasn't comfortable. She hated wearing suits, but this was one of those occasions that warranted it.

"You realize that there will be consequences for your silence. We cannot have rogue agents, Gallagher."

"_It won't be easy. We've had other human friends, and … well …," Don shrugged and lifted his ankle up onto the opposite knee. He was seated on a chair in her living room, and he looked both incongruous, and completely at home._

"_I will keep your secret, and you can trust me. I owe you guys." Sam handed over a manila folder containing police reports, and her own notes. Everything she had gathered on them._

The review board was made up of five grumpy looking men and women – all well above her in the chain of command. Sam glanced down at her hands, and nodded again.

"I think we're ready, now, to explain those consequences: two weeks suspension, without pay. When you're back, you'll be closely monitored, Agent."

"_When we can help you on a case, we will," Don assured her, rising to his feet._

"_Same here. I will help you in whatever way I can," Samantha said firmly. _

"_Samantha, don't make promises you can't keep," Don cautioned. His mask made it nearly impossible to read his eyes. "You don't know what it might cost you."_

Sam released a small, relieved sigh. She wasn't fired, at least. She fingered the cell phone in her jacket pocket. When she was out of here, she would place a call, and let them know they were safe. And that she had two weeks off. Don had said he would share their stories with her, when she had the time.

She had the time.

_End of Book 1_

Author's Notes: Yes, there is more to this. Did you think I could just leave it there? No, there is much more to come. To everyone who reviewed: sporksareweird, Reluctant Dragon, Fallen Hikari, Sassy, pacphys, Reinbeauchaser, and BubblyShell – thank you very much for the kind words.

In answer to Sassy's query on Sam's neighbor – he's going to continue to show up in the stories to follow, and that's all I'm saying. Yes, very good on catching the 'line' business there. That's one of the themes in this collection of stories.

The rest of the stories will be posted right in with this one – I see no point in posting them separately, because then it's harder to follow. Each will be about the same length (although the next one keeps growing, so who knows). Book 2 is in rewrites, and I'm hoping to start posting it in a few days. I too, Fallen Hikari, prefer quick updates to waiting a month for a new chapter.


	6. Better Off Dead Prologue

Book 2 of Cat and Mouse

Title: Better Off Dead

Author: Jayde

Rating: PG-13 for Language, Violence, and Adult Content

Credits: Thanks to Sassy for the beta read. (Hope I didn't mess up your studying!)

Summary: FBI agent Samantha Gallagher, now a friend of the turtles, starts working on a new case that may spell the end of her career.

Prologue:

Two years earlier …

"You want to believe you can get away."

"Please. Just let us go," the woman begged. She was curled on the floor, her back against the wall, and her arms full of two sobbing children. "Please."

"You never listen, Juliet. That's your problem. If you would have just listened," the man said, raising his gun, and aiming it at the trembling woman. "It would have been so much better." The report of the gun was deafening, and Juliet screamed as the bullet exploded in the wall just above her head. The two little girls squirmed to get closer to their mother, crying out in terror.

"Please, don't hurt them," Juliet shrieked as the muzzle of the gun moved lower.

"It was never about them," the man spat contemptuously. The phone in the man's pocket shrilled, startling him a little. He yanked it out. "What?" he barked into the phone. He listened for a moment, and his eyes went round with surprise. "This is my home, and I'll do whatever I …"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. The door behind him burst open, and blue uniformed SWAT members flooded into the suburban living room.

"Thank God," Juliet murmured against her eldest daughter's hair. "Thank you, God."

-

Twelve years earlier …

"This is the police! Come out with your hands up!"

"That's my boy up there," the sergeant said, smiling at his partner as they crouched behind the open doors of their police cruiser. His partner grinned back.

"What is this? His first day? Damn, man, can't you give the kid a break?" James called back over the hail of gunfire that had erupted from the convenience store doorway.

"Hey, he's a Gallagher," the sergeant replied with a firm nod. "He can handle it."

"Everybody needs to get back!" SWAT was pouring from one of their vans onto the street in full body armor.

"What the hell? We already got this covered," Sergeant Gallagher shouted over the din. "NYPD was here first!"

"Are you insane?" A SWAT member questioned sharply. A white news van careened around the corner, and flew towards the mess of police vehicles and uniforms on the street. More gunfire erupted from the doorway of the convenience store where an armed robbery had turned into a volatile hostage situation. "There are five men in there armed with automatic weapons. You have no armor on, you jackass. None of these men do. Now back off!"

"The hell I will," John Gallagher retorted, rising from his crouch. He glanced at his son, fresh out of the academy and not a mark on his uniform as he ducked and covered on his way up to the open door of the store. "This is our collar."

The van was still moving at dangerous speeds, nearly out of control, and clipped a light pole less than half a block away.

"Who is that?" Sergeant Gallagher asked, turning at the sound of the crunch of metal. The van bore down on them, and police officers started to move from their coverage in the face of the vehicle. The SWAT member grabbed the sergeant by the shirt collar, and jerked him out of the street. Everyone scattered as the van smashed into the patrol car parked in front of the store. It caught the back bumper, and flipped onto the sidewalk.

"Mark!" Gallagher shouted. He shrugged off any restraint, and ran for the tipped van. SWAT stormed the store, and the armed robbers were being dragged out, handcuffed, as the sergeant dropped to his knees on the sidewalk. "No," he breathed. He reached out, and touched a lock of red hair. "No."

"Sergeant," James said, and put a hand on the older man's shoulder. "He's gone, man. I'm sorry."

-


	7. Better Off Dead 1

Book 2 of Cat and Mouse

Title: Better Off Dead

Author: Jayde

Rating: PG-13 for Language, Violence, and Adult Content

Credits: Thanks to Sassy for the beta read. (Hope I didn't mess up your studying!)

Summary: FBI agent Samantha Gallagher, now a friend of the turtles, starts working on a new case that may spell the end of her career.

Chapter 1:

"Back in the saddle again."

Samantha Gallagher winced as her friend sang off key into her ear. She held the phone away and grimaced. She was too happy, though, to let this or anything else bring her down. She was back at work and away from her desk for the first time in weeks.

"So, what's the big assignment?" Dan asked, and Sam brought the cell phone back to her ear.

"Babysitting," she replied brightly.

"Awfully cheerful for a lame first time out," Dan noted.

It did not matter at all to Sam. She was working again, and on an actual case. "I gotta go, Danny boy."

"Hey, when am I gonna meet the turtles?"

Sam froze in the hallway of the drab hotel. The guys. Leo, in particular, had made it clear that while he would reluctantly accept her, he wasn't prepared to invite everyone she knew into their secret.

"I'm sorry, Dan. They're … kinda shy." She waited through an unpleasant silence from the other end of the conversation. "I'm sure you'll meet them eventually."

"I'm gonna hold you to that, Sam," Dan responded.

"Hey, I'm here. I'll talk to you later." Sam rang off, and knocked lightly on the hotel room door. It opened a moment later, to reveal her partner, Eric, looking less than thrilled.

"You're late," he growled into her face. She stamped down on her immediate desire to snarl in return, and instead adopted a sunny smile.

"Morning, Eric."

He swung the door wide, and Sam stepped inside. The room was the usual cheesy hotel décor: insane floral prints on the walls, and hideous mauve bedding. Seated on one of the two double beds were a dark haired woman, and two little girls who looked like reduced copies. The woman looked like she hadn't slept in a long time. Not surprising. Witness protection wasn't a walk in the park – at least not for the witness.

Two other agents were seated at the little round table near the patio doors. A small balcony led off of this single room.

"Since you're the last one here, you can go get coffee," Eric stated. He was baiting Sam, of course.

"Sure. Any special requests?" Sam was looking at the woman on the bed. The witness gave the barest of headshakes, and Sam turned to the other two agents.

"Black." "Same." Their responses were almost in two-part harmony.

"The usual," Eric added.

"Great. I'll be back … later," Sam said, and stepped out the door. Back in the hall again, she dug in her bag for her keys. She had seen a Starbucks on the way over here.

-

An hour later, Samantha returned balancing four coffees in one of those useless Styrofoam trays, and a bag with a couple of bottles of juice. She had thought of the juice for the girls – it might make their morning a little better to have something to drink besides whatever room service had available.

Reaching the door, Sam tapped it with her foot and waited impatiently for someone to answer. No one did. Sam leaned forward, and brought her ear close to the door. There was no sound from the other side. Cautiously, she set the beverages down on the floor in the hall. Reaching under her suit coat, she drew her gun, and glanced up and down the long hallway. No one was around. She put her hand on the doorknob, and the door popped open.

Samantha pushed the door with her shoulder, and came cautiously into the room. She halted in the doorway, and gulped at the scene. Two agents lay sprawled – one on the bed, and one on the floor. Bullet holes marked each agent's chest, and blood was spattered around the room like a Jackson Pollack painting.

Breathing in harshly, Sam made her way through the room. She stopped by each man, but it was obvious they were both dead.There was no sign of the witness or her children, or her partner Eric.

"Damn," Sam cursed softly. The curtains blew in from the small balcony, and Sam turned in that direction. Checking carefully for a sign of anyone out there, Sam held the drapes to one side, and found her partner slumped against the balcony railing. "Eric," Sam cried, rushing over. She crouched next to him, and reached to check his pulse.

"I'm not dead yet," Eric whispered. Sam noted the blood on the front of his shirt.

"You've been shot," Sam said, her tone shocked.

"Yeah. Sam, the witness …" Eric waved his gun vaguely to his right, and Sam turned to find frightened brown eyes peering back at her.

"He pushed us out onto the balcony. We hid," the witness said, rising from a crouch on the next balcony. "I climbed over here, with my girls. I heard the shots … Are they …?"

"They're dead," Sam replied. She tucked her gun back into the holster. "Did you see the shooters?" The witness shook her head. Sam could see the little girls now, hiding under a patio table. She turned back to Eric, and noted his pale face and shallow breathing. He didn't have much time.

"You have to let me go. He's going to come back," the witness said anxiously.

Sam frowned, wondering who 'he' was. "I have to call this in."

"Sam," Eric interrupted. "Get them out of here."

Sam reached into her jacket for her cell phone. "I have to get you an ambulance."

"Get out of here now," Eric ordered, a little more strength behind his voice than before. "I'll call it in." Sam noted that Eric's phone was lying on the floor of the balcony, and took her hand out of her jacket.

"Okay, I'll take them to …"

"No. Don't tell me. Don't even tell them," Eric instructed, his voice fading back to a pained whisper. "Tell no one. It's an inside job."

"Okay. We'll take you to the hospital on the way," Sam said, rising to her feet and making plans as quickly as she could.

"No," Eric replied. "Damn it Sam, just go!"

Sam hesitated a moment longer, but she could see that stubborn light in her partner's eyes. She nodded once, and then turned to the woman who had witnessed this entire conversation.

"What's your name?"

"Juliet," the witness responded.

"Juliet. I'm Sam." Samantha retrieved her cell phone from an inside pocket of her jacket. "Is that door open? Can you get into that hotel room?" Juliet tried it, and the glass door slid open. "Great. Go through to the hall. I'll meet you there." With one last look at Eric, Sam stepped back through into the ravaged hotel room. She dialed the number from memory as she walked. "Don," she said, when she heard a greeting on the other end. "I need a favor."

-

"I have to warn you about how they look," Samantha explained as they turned into an alley a couple of hours later. "They're a little different." Sam had taken Juliet and her children from the hotel, and had driven them in a confusing series of circles to reach a distant, and rundown neighborhood. Juliet followed, stepping carefully through the refuse-strewn alley, a child holding each hand. The brunette's eyes flicked here and there, taking in the hulking dumpster and the shadowy dead end.

"Why are we here?" Juliet questioned nervously.

"I'm taking you to a place where no one will ever think to search for you," Sam said confidently. She stepped up to a manhole, and stomped on it three times. Her heel rang against the metal disc with a hollow clang. The manhole cover stirred restlessly, and Juliet drew back a pace. The cover lifted clear, and slid to one side. Thick arms appeared from the black hole. The skin was a clear and brilliant green. Juliet's dark eyes met Sam's – confused and frightened.

"Told ya they were different," Sam noted evenly.

"Hi ya," a friendly voice echoed up from the manhole. "You ladies coming down, or what?"

"We might need a hand, Mike," Sam called down. "The kids won't be able to climb on their own."

"Okay," Mike responded. His wide and smiling green face popped into view. The older child shrieked, and jumped back.

"Mommy, it's a monster!"

"He's not a monster," Sam reassured gently. Mike climbed out, and Juliet and her daughters gaped at him. Juliet recovered first, and lowered her eyes. In her own mind, she had been unforgivably rude.

"I'm … I'm sorry," Juliet offered. She held onto her daughters' hands desperately. Here was a form of aid, and she could not afford to irritate this being. No matter how bizarre he might look.

"It's okay," Mike replied. "Don's waiting at the bottom of the ladder, and I thought you could go down first, and I would bring the girls to you."

Juliet looked up, and gave Mike a tentative smile and a nod in acceptance of his plan. "Do what, um, Mike says, okay Rachel," the mother said, addressing her eldest. "And watch out for Noelle?"

"I will Mommy." Rachel took her younger sister's hand, and watched as her mother climbed down through the hole in the ground. A soft thump came from closer to the fire escape. Another green man had appeared there. He had something on his back – to Rachel's childish mind it looked like sticks.

"Leo," Samantha greeted. Leo nodded in reply, but he was looking at the two little girls.

"You're safe now," Leo said firmly, his light eyes on them. He glanced up, suddenly, at the fire escape. Rachel followed suit, and found another one up there.

"Wow," Rachel said softly, looking at the green man on the fire escape. He wore a red mask, and he had something like knives tucked in his wide belt.

"Okay, who's first?" Mike asked.Rachel led Noelle over, and placed her small hand in Mike's large green one.

"Noelle first," Rachel said. Noelle's face screwed up into an unhappy frown. "It's okay, Elle. Mommy's down there waiting for us."

"I'll take you first," Mike explained gently. "Then I'll get your sister."

"I can take her," Leo interjected. He held out a three-fingered hand to Rachel. The older girl hesitated for a moment.

"He's safe. Really," Sam reassured. The girl finally started moving, and put her hand in Leo's. Mike lifted the smaller girl, and held her with one arm.

"Put your arms around my neck and hold on," Mike advised the little one. Noelle, still a little frightened, wrapped her arms around the turtle's neck and hid her face against his cheek. "Here we go," Mike said, and started climbing down.

Leo crossed to the manhole, and lifted Rachel up. Without being told, she clung to his neck. "You coming down?" Leo asked Sam. The FBI agent nodded, and waited until Leo was down the ladder.

"After you," a voice growled from behind Sam. She resisted the impulse to draw her weapon. Instead, she turned and offered Raph a discouraging glower.

"One of these days, you're going to startle me into shooting you," she noted.

"Hasn't happened yet," he replied. He waved a hand at the manhole, and Sam took the hint. She climbed down into the darkness and joined the others in the tunnel.

"It smells bad," Rachel said, her voice loud in the confined space.

"Rachel," Juliet quickly admonished.

"Yeah, it does," Mike readily agreed. He started leading the way through the shallow running water towards the lair. "But it doesn't smell like this where we're going."

"What does it smell like?" Rachel asked, dropping her mother's hand to run up to Mike's side. She caught his fingers in a tight grip, and the turtle slowed his pace to her shorter legs.

"Like pizza, mostly," Mike replied, thinking the question over. "And a little like burned coffee. Don's burned up at least three coffee pots in the last month."

"Four," Leo corrected from somewhere behind them.

"Anyway, it doesn't smell so sewer-y in our home," Mike explained.

Samantha walked at the back of the pack, and watched Mike talking with the girl. This had been a good idea, and would hopefully give the family some security while she figured this out.

-

"We're here, Sensei," Leo called out as the party reached the inside of the lair. This was always the difficult part – meeting Master Splinter. The aged Sensei stepped out of the kitchen slowly, and greeted the visitors with a small bow.

"Hey, Splinter," Sam greeted casually. "This is Juliet, and her daughters Rachel and Noelle."

"H … Hello," Juliet managed. Her eyes were wide, but she didn't look like she was going to faint. Splinter smiled, and then turned his eyes to the children. Rachel surprised everyone by bowing to the turtles' mentor. Splinter bowed in return, and put out a hand to the child. Rachel let go of Mike's hand, and stepped close to the rat.

"I'm Rachel," the girl explained. She took a hold of the furry fingers.

"Hello, Rachel. How did you know to bow to me?" Splinter inquired gently.

"I took karate before we had to run away," Rachel replied truthfully. "I had to bow to my teacher at the start of every class."

"How many years did you take the class?" Splinter asked.

"Two," Rachel said, holding up two fingers with her free hand.

"So many," Splinter responded. "Would you like to show me?" Rachel nodded happily, and Splinter led her away to the training area.

"She'll be alright," Mike said, noting the worried expression on Juliet's face. She nodded, and tried to smile, but it slipped away fairly quickly.

"We should talk," Sam interrupted. She nodded at Leo significantly. "Mike, would you watch Noelle for a bit?"

"Sure," the orange-masked turtle said. He bent down to the younger child. "You wanna watch t.v. with me?" She nodded, and followed the turtle across the lair.

Sam steered Juliet towards an archway near the door. Leo joined them, and they held a hushed conversation.

"I'm not going to pretend to know what's going on, okay? And I don't have time to ask you all the questions right now," Sam said quickly. She glanced at her watch – she needed to get back to the surface and check on Eric. "You need to stay out of sight – this is the place."

"Okay," Juliet agreed. She glanced around her, still a little shocked to be hiding in the sewers. "How long?" At Sam and Leo's puzzled expressions, she clarified. "How long will we be allowed to stay?"

"As long as you need," Leo reassured.

Wordlessly, Leo and Sam exchanged a look. Feeling like she had done all she could for now, Sam turned to the door. She found Don there waiting for her.

"Going back?"

Sam nodded, and looked at her watch again. "I'll call as soon as I know something."

"We'll look after them," Don reassured her.

"I know you will. I know I can count on you," Sam said. She headed out the door, and listened as it shut firmly behind her. She knew her way, now, through the sewer tunnels, and she left by a different manhole than the one they had entered. Just to be sure. Just to be safe.

-

"Explain to me, Agent, how you managed to lose a witness and her two children." The man punctuated his statement by slamming his fists down on the table in the hotel room. The FBI had taken over the section of the hotel where the shootings had occurred. Sam's supposedly quick debriefing had been held in the room next to the one the witness had been staying in. Samantha studied the senior agent as he turned back to her.

"I returned from getting coffee, and found two agents dead and my partner wounded. The witness was missing," Sam explained. She had repeated her story at least three times now. It was a lie, but it was getting easier with each telling to this self-important asshole. She had received the news as soon as she called in – her partner, Eric, was dead. She had left him alone to die, and this guy just kept asking the same damn questions. "I searched for the witness, but I couldn't find her."

"Or her children," the senior agent added.

"Or her children," Sam agreed through gritted teeth.

"What do you know about this case, Gallagher?" Another agent questioned and Samantha frowned at him. These two agents had dragged her aside as soon as they arrived on the scene. Their badges identified them as agents with the Washington bureau, and what they were doing in New York in connection with this case was a mystery.

"Almost nothing, sir," Sam replied. "It was a babysitting job."

Sanders stared hard at her, and Sam met his gaze evenly.

"This woman is wanted for questioning in a case in Washington, Agent. It is critical that we get her back here. We went to a lot of trouble to track her all the way to New York City, only to have her disappear."

Sam controlled her response to this news very carefully. "If I see her, I'll be certain to report it."

"See that you do, Agent," Sanders retorted smoothly. "Of course it is unlikely you'll see her if she is hiding out."

"Yeah. Of course," Sam agreed, still raging inside. Eric was dead. How could she have left him alone?

"You're free to go, Agent," Sanders ordered. Sam stood up, and headed for the door. She stepped out into the hall, and navigated the confusion of crime scene investigators and NYPD to get to the parking lot. Once at her car, she sat for a moment after she had started it.

Eric had demanded she take Juliet out of there immediately. He had either seen, or suspected an inside job. Sanders didn't buy her story. Sam pulled out of her parking space, and signaled to leave the lot. Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. A bland navy car was behind her. She joined traffic, and took a left onto another street.

The navy car remained in her mirror. Samantha took a wild route, changing lanes and driving in a series of bizarre circles. No matter what she did, the navy car turned up behind her. Finally, she pulled into a parking garage, and drove her car up to the top. She stopped, and got out, locking the car behind her. She hurried for the stairs, and rushed down them as fast as her heels would allow. With her cell phone held to her ear, she shoved her way through a door on the street level.

"Don," she said rapidly into the phone. "I've got another problem."

-


	8. Better Off Dead 2

Book 2 of Cat and Mouse

Title: Better Off Dead

Author: Jayde

Rating: PG-13 for Language, Violence, and Adult Content

Credits: Thanks to Sassy for the beta read. (Hope I didn't mess up your studying!)

Summary: FBI agent Samantha Gallagher, now a friend of the turtles, starts working on a new case that may spell the end of her career.

Author's Notes: Wow! Thanks for the great response to the second installment. To Fallen Hikari – yes, I do like to string people along. How did you guess? (evil laughter). Thanks to chibiroseangel, Reinbeauchaser, and pacphys. And pacphys, for the record, I don't own a drip coffee maker either. Because coffee pots are expensive.

Chapter 2:

12 years earlier …

"It's okay, Daddy."

John Gallagher looked over at the 14-year-old redhead seated next to him in the pew. He scrubbed at his face with his hand, and returned his attention to the gleaming dark coffin in front of him. His heart started to pound again, and he swallowed thickly to keep the tears at bay. A soft hand rested on his, and he squeezed the fingers gently.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he replied gruffly.

"When I grow up, I'm gonna be a cop, too," his daughter said firmly. John glanced around the church at the uniforms around him. Nearly everyone present was with the police department, or married to a cop.

"Why don't you go help your cousin with the guest book?" John said, ignoring his daughter's statement.

"Daddy …," the girl began to protest.

"Just go, Samantha," John ordered.

-

The lair was mostly dark, save for the flickering television screen at one end. Sam walked through, her tennis shoes almost silent, and passed the couch. She noted the occupants with a tired smile. Mike was there, with a little human girl curled on each side. They were watching 'Power Puff Girls'.

"What are these?" Rachel asked sleepily, touching the nunchuck in Mike's belt. He gazed down at the little girl, and smiled.

"It's a weapon."

"Is it sharp?"

"Nah, but it hurts if you get hit with it," Mike answered. Sam continued on her way and stepped into Don's lab. The lights were on in here, and Juliet was sitting on one of the stools.

"I think you need to give me a little more information about your case," Sam ordered as she joined the others. Don nodded to a vacant stool, but Sam was too agitated to sit down.

"It's my ex," Juliet started. Leo was leaning against the wall, and Raphael was sitting on the edge of Don's desk. Juliet ran her fingers along the bottom row of keys of Don's keyboard. "My ex-husband is a senior agent in the FBI. He's … obsessed with us getting back together. He broke into my apartment repeatedly, scared off my employer, my friends …" Juliet ran out of steam, and just looked at her hands. "I think … I think he killed a friend of mine, back in D.C."

"You think?" Don queried from his spot on another stool.

"She was shot to death in her own house. The police said it was a home invasion," Juliet explained. "After that, I ran. We arrived in New York three days ago, and the local field office found us almost immediately."

"Jesus," Sam whispered. She sank down onto the stool she had refused earlier. "And he's using the bureau to do all this."

Juliet nodded, and wrapped her arms around herself. "What are you going to do?" Juliet asked the agent.

"I don't know," Sam responded honestly. "I'm not going to tell him where you are, but … I don't know. Can I ask why you divorced?"

"He was abusive to me, and a few times to Noelle," Juliet admitted, her eyes downcast. "He didn't want Noelle. I wasn't … I wasn't supposed to get pregnant again."

"Asshole," Raphael noted softly.

"You're safe here," Leo insisted, his tone unyielding. "No one will harm you, and you do not have to go back. I promise."

Juliet released a pent up breath, relief evident on her face as she stood up. "I should get the girls to bed." Sam nodded blindly, still reeling from the information. "Thank you, for everything you've done. I didn't know if I should trust you, but I'm glad I did."

-

"Girls," Juliet said, stepping out of Don's lab. "Time for bed."

"Can Mike read us a story?" Rachel asked. Juliet took in the tableaux – when had her daughters ever looked this comfortable around a stranger? And there had been entirely too many strangers lately.

"If it's okay with Mike …?" Juliet said, faintly questioning as she met the eyes of the turtle.

"Absolutely," Mike readily agreed. "Who wants to get carried to bed?"

"Me," Rachel responded quickly, followed immediately by Noelle, who had wrapped her little arms around Mike's forearm.

"Me, too," Sam jested, from behind Juliet.

"Get Donnie to carry you," Mike shot back with an evil grin. Sam replied with a little smile, and took his place on the couch as he stood up. Mike lifted the two girls, one in each arm, and turned towards the stairs. Rachel squealed with glee.

"Mommy, look! Mike can carry both of us!"

"I see, sweetie," Juliet commented. She followed Mike on his journey to the bedroom that had been cleaned out for the little girls. Seeing that his hands were occupied, Juliet stepped around him and opened the door. Inside was a good-sized mattress on the floor, and a basket of toys that the guys had gathered together.

Mike set both girls on their feet, although Noelle wobbled a little before she got her balance.

"You have to leave," Rachel said, pointing at Mike. Mike staggered back, his hand to his chest.

"I thought you wanted a story?" Mike questioned upon being thrown out.

"We have to change into our 'jammies first," Rachel explained in a 'duh' tone. Mike gasped in mock horror, and put a hand over his eyes. Then he bounced around like a pinball searching for the door. Rachel and Noelle laughed at his antics, and Juliet found herself smiling along. Finally, Mike went outside the door. Juliet noted that her luggage had made its way in here, and she dug out nightgowns for both girls. Once she had battled both girls into their sleepwear, she tucked them under the covers.

"It's safe," Juliet called out. Mike came in, his hand still over his eyes, and groped for the bed. Rachel squealed in delight as Mike flopped on the end of the mattress.

"You can look now," Rachel instructed. Mike took his hand away and peeked at the girls with one eye.

"What story do you guys want?" Mike inquired, leaning on one elbow.

"Cinderella," Rachel responded with a cheery shout. Mike made a sour face, and Juliet hid a grin behind a hand. Mike stuck out his tongue at the young mother.

"Cinderella, huh?" Mike said. He sighed – the deep, put-upon sigh of the overburdened storyteller. "Okay. Once upon a time, there was a girl, and she lived a really miserable life with her two hideous stepsisters. Their names were Leonara and Raphaela …"

Juliet settled down, her back against the wall, and watched as the turtle mesmerized the two children with his slightly unusual telling of the classic tale. For whatever reason, the fates had thrown her here with these strange beings. But the fates had been kind this time – Juliet relaxed as she watched her daughters' eyes growing heavy as the turtle's voice grew softer. She felt her own eyes begin to close.

"And so Cinderella was able to go to the ball with the help of her fairy godmother, Samantha, and got to dance with the dashing prince Michaelangelo."

Juliet smiled, and let her eyes drift shut, lulled by the momentary peace of safety.

-

"You've got a problem."

"No shit," Samantha sighed. She stopped walking, and leaned against the brick wall of the sewer tunnel. Once, she had been sort of disgusted by her trips down here. Now it was almost comforting to be in this fragrant darkness.

"What are you going to do?" Don queried. He, too, had halted, and he sat down on the metal pipes that ran along the wall. They were about the right height for a seat.

"I have absolutely no idea," Sam breathed.

"You're going to have a fight on your hands if you try to take her topside and turn her in to the feds," Don explained. It wasn't a threat, but there were shadings of warning in his tone. Sam studied him across the width of the tunnel. "Leo made a promise to keep her safe. You know him."

Sam nodded. She did know. Leo would keep his word no matter what the cost to her, personally.

"I could lose my job," Sam stated. "Here husband is a senior agent …"

"Ex-husband, and Juliet could lose her life."

Closing her eyes, Sam slumped against the wall. She seemed to curl in on herself a little. "God knows I don't want that," Sam said

"But you don't want to lose your job, either." Sam opened one eye, and peered at the turtle. She saw no sign of judgment or disgust on his wide face.

"Pretty selfish of me," Sam confessed softly.

"No," Don said, standing up. "Pretty human, actually." Sam winced a little.

"Those darn human traits," she retorted. "I just have to spend more time with you, I guess." Don crossed to her side of the tunnel, and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't beat yourself up," he instructed gently. "That's Raph's job." Sam chuckled. She rested her cheek on his hand.

"You're about the best friend I have, you know that?" Sam said. Her eyes were closed, and she didn't see the pained expression cross Don's face.

"Yeah, I know."

-

"The rules," Leo began, resting his hands on the back of the kitchen chair. Juliet listened attentively while Rachel and Noelle spooned up their breakfast cereal. "No leaving the lair unescorted. In fact, no trips topside at all."

"Too dangerous," Don added. "If anyone sees you, then it will be that much harder to keep you safe. Your picture was on the news this morning."

Juliet nodded in response to the prohibition.

"No phone calls or emails to anyone," Leo continued in a firm tone. "I know there must be people you would like to reassure."

"No, it's okay," Juliet responded. She toyed with her spoon as she spoke. "I've lost touch with most people in the last couple of years."

"Hey Jules," Mike greeted, wandering into the kitchen. He ruffled Rachel's hair in passing, and the girl grinned up at him.

"Mikey," Noelle crowed, spitting out half of her mouth full of cereal on to the table. Leo grimaced at the mess, and Don laughed. Mike fetched a paper towel from the counter, and scooped up the debris. He tossed it in the garbage, and then sat down next to the younger girl.

"Noelle, sweetheart, say it, don't spray it," Mike advised seriously. Rachel giggled, but managed to keep from spitting out any of her breakfast. She was eight, after all, and had more self-control.

"Are you going to play with us today?" Rachel demanded breathlessly.

"Yup," Mike said. "But after we have our practice, okay? I gotta go beat up Raph for a while, or he gets lonely."

"I heard that," Raphael called from somewhere outside the kitchen. Mike winced, knowing he would pay for that little joke on the practice floor.

"Can we watch you?" Rachel asked. Leo shrugged, and Don got up to clear up the breakfast table.

"Sure," Mike answered. "You just gotta stay out of the way."

Later, sitting between her mother and Master Splinter, Rachel watched wide-eyed as the four turtles sparred.

"Are you sure it's safe?" Her mother questioned. Splinter turned kind eyes on the worried woman.

"My sons are very competent in their skills. You must not fear for their safety in this training environment," Splinter reassured. "Have you considered learning some form of self defense for yourself? Rachel has learned something from her martial arts class, but she could learn much more from us on protecting herself," Splinter offered.

Juliet nodded. "Our lives will never be the same. I can't …," she paused, and tried to find the right words. "I can't go back to who I was before, and neither can they. He's never going to give up and let us have a regular life. We have to hide – probably forever. I want them to know everything they need to survive." Juliet flinched as her little speech was punctuated by Raphael throwing Mike to the floor with a heavy thud.

"That was so cool," Rachel said, awed. "I wanna learn how to do that."

Splinter and Juliet exchanged amused glances over the girl's head.

-


	9. Better Off Dead 3

Book 2 of Cat and Mouse

Title: Better Off Dead

Author: Jayde

Rating: PG-13 for Language, Violence, and Adult Content

Credits: Thanks to Sassy for the beta read. (Hope I didn't mess up your studying!)

Summary: FBI agent Samantha Gallagher, now a friend of the turtles, starts working on a new case that may spell the end of her career.

Author's Notes: Reluctant Dragon – I generally think Don and April as a couple, too (in fact, I've written that pairing in another fic). Hmm. Don and Sam … What an interesting idea, Sassy! This, as Fallen Hikari would say, is where I should insert an evil laugh. (cackles madly).

Chapter 3:

Five years earlier …

"I can't believe you made it, honey."

"Dad," Samantha said, struggling with his tie. "Of course I made it. I'm your kid. It's genetics."

"Bullshit," he retorted, and craned to look around her at the bathroom mirror. "Don't you know how to tie a tie?"

"No," Sam replied, reining in her impatience as she fumbled with the knot. "They didn't cover this in college. And, I doubt they will at the FBI Academy either."

"My little girl an FBI agent," her father crowed. He finally took the offensive piece of fabric from her hands, and started tying it himself. "It's just too bad …"

Sam's face fell from radiant happiness to a more familiar sadness. "I know, Dad. I wish Mark was here, too."

"He'd have made lieutenant by now," he replied, his expression distant with memories. Sam looked away, feeling the bitterness sweep over her. It tasted like dust and ashes.

-

It was one of the most gut wrenching and horrible feelings in the world.

Her password wasn't working.

She had tried it at least a dozen times now, trying desperately to remember if she had changed it at some point recently and simply forgotten. But for whatever reasons the network, and the databases, were now inaccessible.

Samantha stabbed the enter key again, and only received the 'you are not authorized' message for her trouble. She leaned back in her chair, and considered the glaring red text.

This wasn't an accident or a network glitch. This was deliberate. She glanced around the office, and noticed that no one met her eyes. She sat up a little straighter, and looked very carefully at each and every person there. The agents, the clerical staff – no one returned her attention.

She slumped down again, and tried to think if she had insulted everyone recentlyHer partner was dead, she was on the worst assignment her boss could find … Agent Sanders wandered in the door, and oiled his way around the room. He greeted the other agents with a hearty handshake, and he looked at her. He met her eyes without hesitation.

His expression was clear, too. It said 'I own you' in letters anyone could read.

Sam stood up, and jerked her jacket on with trembling hands. She picked up her bag, and stuffed a few file folders in it. She had no idea what cases they contained, but she was getting out of here. She strode out, ignoring Sanders altogether.

Once on the street, she only started walking quickly towards the parking garage where she had left her car. It was mid-morning, and there were the usual package delivery people about, along with a few people coming late to work. She turned and out of the corner of her eye she saw him.

A man in a dark suit, sunglasses, and the blank face of an FBI agent at work was following her. It was Sanders' partner from her interrogation at the hotel. Sam sped her steps, and without warning dashed across the street. A car horn blared, but she didn't slow down. Finding a subway entrance conveniently in front of her, she rushed down the steps.

Sam found herself in the underground station with quite a few other people. She waited, watching the train as it slowed and stopped. The doors opened, and people poured off. After a moment, others started to board. She stayed where she was – a few steps from the open doors and looked at the schedule board.

Her tail was near – too near. She waited, nearly vibrating with tension, and when the doors started to close she dived forward, throwing herself onto the train. A fellow commuter was rudely jostled by her desperate move, and he cursed her vehemently.

She apologized, and walked back through the now moving car to another. She had lost her tail. He had failed to make it on to the train. Sam sat down in a seat, and took a deep breath. This train would stop only blocks from the guys.

Just about to congratulate herself on her smooth escape, something told her to look to her right. Sam turned her head, and saw Sanders sitting on the train in his pressed suit and dark glasses. He had a wire in his right ear, and he made no pretext about it. He was grinning at her in naked triumph.

-

"We'll start with the basics. Rachel probably knows some of this already from karate classes," Leo explained to Juliet as they sat on the ledge surrounding the training space. In front of them, Mike was leading Rachel and Noelle through a series of motions. Rachel clearly had done this before, but Noelle was mostly waving her arms around happily.

Juliet nodded, even though she felt like she was in over her head. She couldn't imagine what her own training would be like.

"What about the rest of their education?" Don asked, munching on an apple. He leaned against the wall nearby.

"I thought I could home school them in math, science, English …," Juliet said thoughtfully.

"I could help with that," Don offered. "I know a little about math, science …"

"Physics, calculus, chemistry, astrophysics, and basically any other genius thing you can imagine," Mike called out from the practice floor. "And I can teach them about the finer points of life."

"Which are what?" Don inquired, amused.

"Television, video games, music, pizza," Mike listed.

"And Ninjitsu!" Rachel shouted, copying a side kick that Mike had just executed.

"Don't worry," Mike reassured Juliet. "Soon they'll be just like me!"

Leo laid a gentle hand on Juliet's shoulder. He looked deep into her eyes. "I'm sorry," he offered sincerely. Juliet replied with a half-smile for the joke.

Donatello's cell phone chose that moment to ring, startling everyone. He retrieved the phone from his belt, and answered it.

"Hello," Don said. His eyes lit up as he heard the voice on the other end. "Sam, what's …?" He paused, and his smile disappeared. "No, that's probably for the best. Yes. Juliet's fine. No. We're okay for supplies, so don't worry about it." Don glanced over at Leo, and they exchanged some silent information. "We'll take extra precautions. Yes. Okay. Bye."

Don held the phone in his hand for moment, his expression reflecting his concern.

"What?" Mike asked, halting the practice session.

"Sam is being followed again. She thinks she had better stay away for a couple of days to avoid suspicion," Don answered. He smiled ruefully. "She's also been assigned to a stakeout tonight."

"It's raining," Raph noted as he crossed the practice area to the heavy bag.

"She's in trouble for helping me, isn't she," Juliet noted morosely.

"Sam's just being careful," Don responded. "She doesn't want to lead anyone here – for various reasons."

"How close was she?" Leo asked.

"Two blocks," Don sighed. Raph threw a powerful kick at the heavy bag, and it swung wildly. Mike herded the girls further away from where his brother was working out. "She said she's stuck outside in an alley for the rest of the night."

"Ouch," Leo offered, wincing in sympathy. "Does she need anything?"

Don shook his head. Raph punched the bag repeatedly, and the chain groaned in protest. "I'm going to check on her later."

"Hey Donnie," Raph called. "You want some company when you go topside?"

"No thanks," Don replied.

-

"Aaah," Samantha released a deep breath as she stepped into her apartment. The sun would be rising soon, and this had been – without a doubt – one of the most miserable nights of her life. She paused just inside the door, and peeled off her wet jacket. She managed to kick off her shoes, and noted that her socks were completely soaked. She dragged them off as well, hanging onto the doorframe for balance.

She hadn't made it three steps when she saw the stack of towels on the floor. She bent over, and grabbed the top one to lie down on the floor under her shoes and dripping jacket. She took the second one to wrap around her wet hair.

The kettle started to whistle, and Sam closed her eyes for a moment in relief. There was only one individual that would break in and try to make her life a little easier.

"Come and have some tea," Don's voice called from the kitchen. Sam started in that direction, when a knock on the door behind her made her freeze in her tracks. She turned back, and hesitantly opened the door.

"Mr. Adams," Sam greeted her neighbor.

"Samantha, are you just getting home?" Richard questioned sharply.

"Yes, I had to work," Sam explained. "Did you need something Mr. Adams?"

"No, but I thought I heard someone in here before you came home. You sure no one else is here?"

Sam raised her eyebrows for a moment. Her neighbor must have exceptional hearing.

"I, um, I have a friend here," Sam admitted. She watched as Mr. Adams face split into a wide smile.

"Well, now, it seems you're finally taking my advice. It's good to have a social life, Samantha," Richard crowed happily. He turned away, and started back towards his apartment. Sam watched him until he reached his own door. "Have a good day."

"You too," Sam responded, shaking her head. She shut her door, and locked it. She headed back to the kitchen, and found Don pouring hot water into two cups.

"Problem?" He asked, waving her to a chair. Sam sat down, and cradled the hot mug in her hands. The warmth felt unbelievably good.

"My neighbor thinks I'm having a social life," Sam said. Don quirked an eye ridge at her, and sat down at the table. "He heard you."

"He couldn't have. I'm a ninja," Don argued politely. He sipped at his tea.

"Better take a refresher course, because he did hear you."

"How was the stakeout?" Don asked, switching the topic of conversation.

"Horrible," Sam said, shuddering. "I'm being punished."

"Yeah," Don agreed. Sam took a gulp of tea, and felt the hot liquid burn its way down her throat.

"Sanders is being given every professional courtesy," Sam clarified bitterly, looking down at her cup. "I can't … There's no one there to trust."

"Sam …," Don started.

"I'll be okay. I'm just …," Sam shrugged. "I'm in a corner, and I have to figure a way out."

"You're not alone," Don noted.

"I am though," she contradicted. "There is no ninja trick for this, Don."

-

"Where do the plates go?"

"Up here," Mike responded, tapping a kitchen cupboard door. He put his hands back into the sink, and continued to scrub at the pot that had held the spaghetti sauce. Behind him, Juliet moved back over to the drainer, and started drying the glasses.

"It's so quiet," Juliet noted.

"Gets like that when everyone is gone." The other three turtles had gone out to do a quick sweep of the sewer tunnels and pick up a few supplies. Splinter was in his room, and the girls were curled up on the couch watching television. "Here," Mike said. He picked up a towel and dried off his hands. He turned on the radio that rested further along the counter. Soft popular music replaced the silence.

Humming along, Juliet placed the glasses back on the shelf. Mike smiled over at her as she swayed her hips to the music. He drifted up behind her, and put a hand on her abdomen, wetting her t-shirt. She laughed and swatted at him with her towel, but she couldn't reach him effectively. He started to sway with her. She leaned back, still giggling, and let him lead them in a little dance.

Juliet sighed, and closed her eyes. She could, she thought, get used to this kind of treatment. Mike had become a good friend during her brief stay.

Mike turned them, holding her to him with his hand. She followed his steps, and rested her head back against his shoulder. She was utterly relaxed, and then suddenly she wasn't. She became aware of the hard surface behind her – his plastron, he had explained – and of the way he was effortlessly holding her with only one arm.

The song switched, but the moment of peace had been shattered. Mike sensed her discomfort, and quickly backed away.

"Sorry," he offered.

Juliet turned around, and met his concerned eyes. "It's okay. It just … seems too soon."

"Yeah," Mike agreed quickly, nodding his head. A smile broke across his face as he had an idea. He held out his hands to her. Juliet eyed him carefully, puzzled, but after a moment she put her hands out.

Mike took the towel out of her hand, and tossed it on the table. He caught her hand in his, and he moved her other hand to his shoulder. He was grinning as they moved into something that could have been a tango, had it not been so ridiculously exaggerated. Juliet giggled helplessly as Mike lowered her into a dip. They hugged each other tightly as he brought her back to her feet.

"Thank you," she offered between giggles, slowly getting her breath back. She was grateful for the break in the tension.

She couldn't have said, afterward, who moved first. It seemed like they both shifted closer at the same time, and then they were just kissing. And it wasn't disgusting or horrible or even that strange. He was surprisingly gentle, and when his hands moved to her hair she relaxed against him.

When they broke apart, Juliet sighed. "It's still too soon."

"Yeah," Mike agreed, but he kept his arms around her anyway.

-


	10. Better Off Dead 4

Book 2 of Cat and Mouse

Title: Better Off Dead

Author: Jayde

Rating: PG-13 for Language, Violence, and Adult Content

Credits: Thanks to Sassy for the beta read. (Hope I didn't mess up your studying!)

Summary: FBI agent Samantha Gallagher, now a friend of the turtles, starts working on a new case that may spell the end of her career.

Author's Notes: I was feeling generous, and posted two chapters at once. Warning: There are only 5 chapters in this installment, so the end is nigh folks.

Chapter 4:

Three years earlier …

"Where is he?"

"Ms. Gallagher, there are some things you need to know before you see him," the nurse explained to the red haired woman charging down the hall of the hospital.

"Just tell me what room he's in," she demanded. The nurse caught her arm, and halted her progress. He pulled her to one side of the busy hallway, and spoke quickly and quietly.

"Your father has had a stroke. There has been brain damage. He can communicate, but he's not clear on some things."

Sam's eyes went round with surprise. "What things?" she questioned.

"He's confused over what year it is," the nurse explained. He seemed very uncomfortable.

"Take me to see him," Sam said. Whatever had happened, it would be better once she could see her father. The nurse nodded, and led her down the hall to a stark white room. Once around the curtain, Sam had to hold on to herself to keep from running out. His face was ashen and slack. She moved around to the side of the bed, and bent over his still form.

"Daddy," she called softly. His eyes opened, and it took a moment for them to fix on her.

"Samantha," he replied, sounding genuinely pleased. "Is Mark here, too?" His daughter looked dismayed at the question, and she glanced at the nurse with new understanding. Recovering quickly, Sam managed to answer.

"No, Dad. Mark's not here."

"Call him and ask him to come see his old man," John directed, as his eyes lost focus again. Sam swallowed around the hard lump in her throat, and tried to make her voice work.

"Okay, Daddy."

-

"So for now, you'll be reporting directly to Agent in Charge Sanders from the D.C. office. Any questions?"

Samantha sat quietly in the chair across the enormous gleaming black desk from her supervisor, and tried not to panic.

"So, I'm on loan, or something?" Sam asked.

"Or something," her supervisor retorted. He signed a piece of paper, not even deigning to look up at her. "Dismissed."

"I don't think you realize what you're doing," Sam started. Her supervisor glanced up at her with barely disguised impatience. "Sanders is just trying to destroy his ex-wife. This is some insane revenge kick he's on."

"I don't care if he's gathering evidence to convict the Easter Bunny. D.C. has asked for our help, and we're giving it. Dismissed."

Sam stood up, and walked out of the office. Once in the industrial gray hallway, she leaned against the wall for a moment. Reporting directly to Sanders meant that he would be able to monitor her every move. It would be that much harder to sneak away to see the turtles, or even call to check on Juliet.

Sam stood up straight, and walked down the hall to an open conference room. Inside, Sanders was sitting on the table, one leg swinging jauntily back and forth, as he grinned at her arrival.

"Agent Gallagher, a pleasure to see you again," he greeted with a shark's smile. "Won't you come in and sit down? I have some new assignments for you …"

"Stakeouts?" Sam inquired, not bothering to return the false geniality.

"How did you guess?" He replied cheerily. "By the way, you haven't heard anything from Juliet, our missing witness, have you?"

Samantha frowned at the senior agent, and took a seat at the table.

"How old are you now Agent Gallagher?" Sanders asked. "26?"

"28," Sam replied shortly.

"Are you happy with the FBI, Agent?" Sanders inquired. Sam squirmed a little in her chair, wondering where this whole thing was leading.

"Yes," she finally answered.

"If you want to stay happy, and stay in this job, then you need to figure out who your real friends are," Sanders warned, still smiling like an evil Christmas elf from his perch on top of the table. "Now me, I could be your friend … if you help me out."

"I have absolutely no interest in helping you," Sam gritted coldly. Sanders leaned forward, and the smile slid off his face to be replaced by an icy glare.

"What is it you think you know, Gallagher?" He slipped off the table and stood up. Sam rose to her feet as well, and glanced at the door. It was only a few steps away. "Has my wife been filling your head with her lies?"

Sam took a step back, and Sanders' gloating smile returned.

"Has she told you to be afraid of me?" he questioned softly. Sam turned, and rushed for the door. A hand caught her arm, and her back met the doorframe hard enough to send the vibration through her whole body. Sanders leaned in, and breathed out his final warning. "That's good, because you should be afraid of me. You both should be."

Sam shoved him back, surprising the man with her retaliation.

"You're not a federal agent," she spat, sneering up at him. "You're a fraud, and a pathetic excuse for a man. You think beating up and terrorizing a woman makes you big? You make me sick." Sam spun around and charged out the door, nearly toppling a hapless clerk in the hallway.

-

Slipping quietly into the lair over the lunch hour, Samantha yawned and adjusted the badge around her neck. She was exhausted. She had been on a stakeout all night again after her encounter with Sanders, and then had spent the morning trying to lose her tail. She wandered to the kitchen, and noted that Mike was at the stove cooking something in a large pot. The turtle offered her a friendly smile, and Sam opened the fridge to see if she could locate a soda.

Juliet walked in, and gave Sam a wave. Then, Juliet moved up behind Mike, and put her arms around his neck. Sam, frozen to the spot in surprise, watched helplessly as Juliet dropped an affectionate kiss on Mike's cheek.

Having completed her task, apparently, Juliet exited again. Mike grinned over his shoulder at the FBI agent, and offered a 'what can you do' shrug.

Her mind reeling, Sam staggered out of the kitchen, only to bump directly into Don's plastron. Catching her by the shoulders, Don kept Sam from falling backwards. Seeing her wide and puzzled eyes, Don took her arm, and led her directly to his lab. With a determination that surprised her, Don pushed her down on to a stool.

"I'm gone for a couple of days," Sam whispered, finally finding her ability to speak. Don smiled gently, and released her shoulders. He pulled a stool up, and sat close by.

"Things change rapidly around here," he noted blithely.

"Jeez, Donnie," Sam moaned, and lowered her head into her hands. Hesitantly, he slid a hand around the back of her neck and massaged lightly. "I'm gonna get fired." Or killed, she added silently in her own head.

"Because Mike and Juliet are involved?" He questioned in a soft voice.

Sam groaned and leaned her forehead against the upper plates of his plastron. "He's going to hunt for Juliet forever. He's obsessed, and completely nuts …" She raised her head, and met Don's eyes. "It took me hours to shake his partner this morning, and ..." She paused, realizing she had said too much.

"And what?" Don queried. When Sam remained silent, his eyes narrowed with concern. "Has he threatened you?"

Sam's eyes cut to the side. "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," Don noted evenly. He dug in with his fingers, massaging harder. Sam closed her eyes in real pleasure.

"You have magic fingers," she said, her voice husky with exhaustion. Abruptly, she realized the intimacy of her position, and sat back. Don removed his hand. "I'll be fine. Just keep Juliet hidden, and I'll figure something out."

"And if you can't figure something out?" Don added solemnly.

"Then my career is over."

"Well, I have an idea," Don stated. He watched as a slow smile spread over Sam's tired face.

"Don't you always?"

-

"Dan, how's it going?"

"Sam," Dan replied, juggling his cell phone and the half-eaten cheeseburger he had been eating for dinner. "What's up?"

"I need a favor," Sam said, her voice sounding very far away.

"Where are you? In a tunnel?" Dan questioned, trying to hear her over the static.

"Something like that," Sam responded, faintly amused. "Could you meet me tomorrow morning? I have someone who wants to turn themselves in."

"Who?" Dan asked, suddenly very interested in the conversation. He dropped his burger on his desk, and pulled over a pen and pad of notepaper.

"That woman the FBI wants for questioning in D.C." Dan tapped his pen on his desk for a moment.

"Shouldn't you be bringing her to the FBI, Sam?"

"She wants to turn herself into the NYPD, Dan," Sam stated. "Listen, I'm just the messenger here. You don't want to bring her in, that's fine."

"No, no," Dan interjected swiftly. "I'm fine with it. Where do you want to meet? Or are you bringing her here to the station?"

"I have a location in mind. You got a pen handy?"

-


	11. Better Off Dead 5

Book 2 of Cat and Mouse

Title: Better Off Dead

Author: Jayde

Rating: PG-13 for Language, Violence, and Adult Content

Credits: Thanks to Sassy for the beta read. (Hope I didn't mess up your studying!)

Summary: FBI agent Samantha Gallagher, now a friend of the turtles, starts working on a new case that may spell the end of her career.

Chapter 5:

Detective Dan Wa pulled in to the nearly empty parking lot, and stopped his car not far from the entrance. It was very early in the morning, and he muttered a curse at his friend's insistence on meeting at this time in such a remote location. He looked across the sea of concrete, and saw a familiar redhead open the door to a bland, beige car. In the passenger seat sat an attractive brunette.

"Sam," Dan shouted. He saw his friend climb out of the car, and turn towards him. She shut the car door, and started across the parking lot. Before she had taken more than five steps an explosion ripped through the car behind her, throwing Sam several feet through the air. The agent landed on the concrete with her left shoulder, and rolled over a couple of times before lying prone on the ground. Dan jerked out his cell phone, and started screaming into it as he ran toward her.

"Officer down! I need ambulance, fire trucks, the works!"

The car, engulfed with flames, steadily blackened as the fire sent a pillar of smoke into the air. Dan crouched near his friend, and gently turned her over. Her eyes were open, and she was looking at him with recognition.

"Sam," Dan said, wiping some hair out of her face.

"The car," Samantha croaked, then she coughed and clutched at her rib cage. Something hurt dreadfully.

"Gone, along with your passenger," Dan explained briefly. Sam closed her eyes with a pained expression.

"Juliet," Sam said. "You have to tell them that it was Juliet in the car."

"Okay, Sam," Dan replied. He lifted her head up, and put his folded jacket under it. "I'll tell them. Just relax. The ambulance is coming." Sam, though, would not be comforted. She struggled into a half-sitting position, and looked over at her car. She could feel the heat of the fire on her skin. Curious bystanders, very few of them fortunately, surrounded them, drawn to disaster like moths to flame.

-

"So when do I get to start using weapons?" Rachel asked. The little girl bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, pigtails bobbing on each side of her head.

"Not quite yet," Mike replied. He had Noelle's hands in his, and he was bringing her through a kata. The four-year-old scrunched up her face in an effort at concentration.

"Will I learn to use 'chucks?" Rachel questioned, still bouncing energetically. Mike looked over at her, and smiled ruefully. This had been his dream, right? To have kids? But he was beginning to understand why Raphael had laughed at him, and offered a withering 'good luck' at the announcement that Mike had taken on a ready made family.

"I'm sure that Mike will start you on weapons when it's the right time," Juliet soothed. She was sitting on the floor of the practice space not far away, fiddling with a Band-Aid on her right arm. Don had taken enough blood out of her that she'd been feeling a little faint, but it was for a good cause. Hard to convince people you're dead without DNA evidence.

Mike left Noelle to try on her own, and sat down next to Juliet.

"How are you feeling?" He asked softly.

"Better. The orange juice helped," Juliet responded. Mike reached over and took one of her hands between his. "Do you think Sam is okay?" she asked.

"Don was going to check on her …," Mike began explaining, but he was interrupted by a high-pitched shout.

"Mike, look!" Noelle shrieked. Mike looked up, and watched as Noelle executed the move he had been patiently teaching her. It wasn't smooth yet, but she had remembered what to do.

"Great job," Mike enthused. He held out a hand, and the little girl tore over to him. Mike pulled her into an embrace without letting go of Juliet's hand.

"Way to go, sweetie," Juliet cheered, adding an arm to the group hug. Neither of them noticed the sudden stillness of Rachel in the background, or her stricken face.

"You did good, grasshopper," Mike said, rubbing Noelle's back. "You'll be kicking butt with me in no time."

Juliet frowned as Rachel stomped off of the mats and out of the practice area.

-

Explosions hurt. Sam shifted carefully on her bed, and tried to find a position that didn't result in a throbbing pain somewhere in her body. The litany of injuries was exhausting just to think about. She had dislocated her shoulder, cracked a rib, and had multiple cuts and contusions. It had taken a shouting match to get the ER doctor to let her out as quickly as he had.

She wanted to be home, in her own bed. But it wasn't proving to be any more comfortable.

A soft sound from the direction of the balcony caused Samantha to sit up suddenly. She groaned in pain as the sliding glass door opened. A familiar shadow slipped inside, and hurried to her bed.

"Sam," Don exclaimed, leaning his staff against the wall, and sitting on the edge of her mattress. His eyes roamed over her, noting the vibrant purple and black bruise covering one side of her face.

"Nice of you to drop by," Sam replied, cautiously moving. She winced, and Don reached out to help her. She put up a restraining hand. "It's okay."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Don questioned, lowering his hands to rest them on his knees.

Samantha shrugged, and grimaced again as her tender shoulder protested. "I did. I told you that Juliet was safe. That hologram you came up with worked perfectly."

Don frowned. That wasn't what he had meant at all. "Is it over?" he asked, deciding not to pursue it.

"I think so," Sam replied slowly. "Sanders came to see me in the hospital. He appears to be genuinely grieving the loss of his ex-wife and children." She smiled ruefully. "He invited me to attend the funeral service in D.C."

It was quiet for a moment between them as Sam settled back against the pillows. "How close were you to the car when the bomb went off?"

"Don," Sam began, only to be cut off.

"You were supposed to be ten feet away before you triggered it," Don continued, starting to sound argumentative.

"It had to look real," she muttered in response.

Don's eyes widened behind his mask as he stared at her, aghast at the risk she had taken. "You could have been killed."

"I'll be fine," Sam argued.

"You look like hell," Don shot back, clearly out of patience with her.

"Thank you very much," she responded acidly. "You're not exactly material for 'America's Next Top Model' yourself."

"You're insane," Don murmured, shaking his head. "You're stubborn and insane and I don't know why I keep coming over here." He sighed, and rubbed at his forehead distractedly. "Do you want some tea?"

"That would be great, thanks," Sam replied, lips twitching up into a grateful smile. He sighed again, his exasperation starting to dissipate, and stood up.

"One cup of tea, coming right up."

-

Golden afternoon sunlight slanted through the blinds and glared off the gleaming pale floors and walls. Despite the delicate floral wallpaper, and landscape paintings, the place still felt coldly institutional.

Samantha knocked lightly on the door before pushing it open to enter a room done in the palest shades of green and blue.

"Hi, Dad," Sam greeted the man on the bed. He turned his head slowly, and offered her a lopsided smile.

"There's my girl," John Gallagher said, his voice soft and without any strength behind it. He patted the bed, his arm flopping grotesquely. "Come and sit by me." Sam crossed the room, and sat carefully on the hard plastic chair pulled up to the bed. She took in his sunken cheeks, and the faintly sick smell about him with the usual sense of regret and sadness. And a painful understanding that this man, who she had admired and loved all her life, was almost entirely gone.

"How are you?" Sam asked.

"Sleeping too much, but that's the boredom," John replied irritably. "Not much to do in this damn place." Sam nodded.

"Maybe I'll visit more often. I've got some extra time, now," Sam explained. She twisted her hands together, and tried not to think about how her father would react to what she had just done.

"You don't need to hang out here with your old man," he insisted with some of his old enthusiasm. "You've got to concentrate on your career. FBI doesn't promote you if you're not there, Samantha."

She winced, and looked over at the sunshine that splashed across the wall to avoid her father's eyes. "About that, Dad. I wanted to tell you …"

"Hey, when's your brother coming by to see me?" John questioned, interrupting his daughter. Sam closed her eyes. She should have known better. "You gotta call him for me, Samantha. Tell him to visit his old man."

"Yes, Dad," Sam responded, feeling the numbness of grief slip over her. She could never tell him that she had quit the FBI. He wouldn't understand how everything had changed – how it wasn't enough anymore. How she didn't fit. He couldn't hear her confession of failure.

"I miss him," her father whispered. She glanced back to see the tears welling in his eyes. Sam gently picked up his hand, and held it between hers.

"I know, Dad."

_End of Book 2_

Author's Notes: Oh, you guys had to know that there's more, right? To chibiroseangel – this is sort of an epic. There are two more books before the real end, and that's when I tie everything up. To everyone who is surprised by the romance – you know, sometimes I'm surprised the way this is going. All four books were outlined more or less at one time. The romance snuck in there as I 'filled in the blanks'.

I would like to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, encouraged, cheered and prodded me along in writing this: Sassy, Reinbeauchaser, pacphys, Fallen Hikari, Reluctant Dragon, chibiroseangel, Rizzle, BubblyShell, Kristy99, and sporksareweird.

The next book, titled 'Startup Costs', should be along next week, barring writer's block or other disaster.


	12. Startup Costs Prologue

Book 3 of Cat and Mouse

Title: Startup Costs

Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, and adult situations

Summary: Sam, former FBI agent and friend of the turtles starts a private security business in New York City, while back in the lair Mike deals with family life, and the return of Agent Sanders.

Credits: Thanks to the beautifully talented and endlessly patient Sassy for the beta read.

Disclaimer: I do not own the turtles, Splinter, Casey, April, or a toaster oven. Not for profit – only for fun.

Prologue:

Washington, D.C.

A sandy haired man sat behind a clean, oak desk and studied a family portrait that had been sitting on his desk for the past three years. Pictured was a typical family: an attractive dark-haired woman, and two dimpled children with matching coloring. Also in the photo was a man in a dark blue suit with deadened eyes, a fake smile, and sandy hair.

Three days after the photo was taken, his wife left him. Walked out, taking nothing but some clothes and the two girls. He had struggled mightily to get her back each and every day in between, but he had failed. She was dead now, and likely the girls were, too. But they had never been part of his equation, save as something to hold her to him. And look how well that had worked out. No, it wasn't the smiling little girls that he missed, and ached to have in his arms again.

The phone on his desk rang and he picked it up.

"Sanders," he stated, still looking at the picture.

"Agent Sanders?" the voice on the other end queried. "This is Mark Matlin from New York. I'm with CSI, Agent Sanders, and I have a couple of questions."

"Go ahead," Sanders replied, his mind already starting to gear up.

"Did your wife have any unusual medical conditions, or was she on any medication at the time of her death?" the CSI queried.

The agent hesitated for a moment before answering. "No. As far as I know, Juliet was in perfect health."

"Well, then I have a puzzle," Mark Matlin said. "See, there wasn't enough physical evidence to conclusively say there was a body in the car." At the continued silence on the other end, the CSI continued. "No bone fragments or anything. And we found some unusual electronics in the remains of the vehicle …" By now, Greg Sanders was no longer listening. His thought processes were speeding ahead to a conclusion.

"Thank you, Mark," Sanders said, cutting off his caller. "Thank you very much." He hung up before the CSI could say anything else. The agent set the photo down carefully on his immaculate desk, and smiled at the image behind the glass. "Oh, clever. Very clever. But you had help with this, didn't you, Juliet? Yes, help from that Agent Gallagher." The phone was picked up again for another call, this time outgoing. "I need a flight to New York."

* * *

New York City, NY 

Casey Jones let out a harsh grunt, and shoved the sofa forward with all of his might. It slid across the floor of the truck, and bounced against a stack of boxes.

"Hey," a female voice called from behind him. He armed sweat from his forehead, and gave a nod to the petite redhead. "How's it going?" she questioned, stepping around him to set two lamps down just inside the back door of the rental truck.

"Good," he replied. He pulled at his t-shirt a little. He would need a shower when he got home before April would so much as speak to him. "Almost done?"

"Another box, and I'm done," Sam said. She rubbed at the back of her neck, and grimaced at the perspiration she found there. She had pulled her hair up into a ponytail, but it hadn't helped at all. "Take a break, Casey. I'll get that last box, and we'll be on our way." Casey nodded, and sat down on the back bumper to take a breather. Sam turned back to the apartment building that had been her home for the last two years, and climbed the concrete steps.

Back inside and on her own floor, she opened her apartment door to retrieve the last of her belongings. When she returned to the door, she opened it to find a familiar face on the other side.

"So you're really moving out?" her neighbor queried morosely. Sam set down her box.

"Gotta go, Mr. Adams. I just can't afford this place while I'm trying to start up a business," Sam explained as she dug in the pocket of her shorts. "I can leave a number where I can be reached – just in case you need anything."

"Aw, that's alright, Samantha. I've got Mrs. Gonzalez on the other side all set to take me on my grocery runs," Richard reassured her. Sam stopped searching for the card, and reached out to touch the older man's hand gently.

"I'm going to miss you, Mr. Adams," Sam confessed. "Maybe after I get things going, I can move back in."

"What kind of a business are you starting, Samantha?" Richard asked.

"Private security. Bodyguard type stuff, and consulting," Sam stated. She shook her head a little. "Not quite the same as working for the FBI, but I think it will work out."

"Well, my nephew could use something like that …," Richard said, musing. "He runs a business of his own, and he told me he had some security problems."

"Really? Well, I would be happy to talk to him." Sam resumed her search for the errant card, and this time the white cardboard didn't evade her. She pressed it into Richard's hand. "Just give him this, or get Mrs. Gonzalez to read it, okay?"

"Okay, Samantha," Richard replied. He wrapped his hand around hers, and squeezed her fingers. "You take care of yourself. I'll give this card to my nephew next time he visits. You'll like him. He's a fine young man."

* * *

"You know what you can do with your good luck charms, you piece of shit!" 

The man holding out the tiny carved figures – each one resting on a simple black cord – stepped back and ducked his head a little. "Okay," the street vendor said, moving away from the towering man before him. He had thought the well-dressed man might be a potential sale, but obviously not.

"Yeah, just stay outta my way," Carl Adams responded angrily. His cell phone rang, and he ripped it out of his pocket with a snarl. "What?" he shouted into the tiny piece of electronics.

The voice on the other end was recognizable, and not very welcome.

"She's what? She's dead?" Carl hollered into the tiny piece of electronics. "The hell? Drug overdose?" Carl cursed more colorfully, and stomped down the street to his waiting car. "And why the hell am I supposed to care that she's dead? Put some other bitch on that corner!" He reached his car and the driver quickly opened the door to the back seat. Carl climbed in, still yelling into the phone. "Her kid? I don't give a damn about some dead whore's kid!"


	13. Startup Costs 1

Book 3 of Cat and Mouse

Title: Startup Costs

Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, and adult situations

Summary: Sam, former FBI agent and friend of the turtles starts a private security business in New York City, while back in the lair Mike deals with family life, and the return of Agent Sanders.

Credits: Thanks to the beautifully talented and endlessly patient Sassy for the beta read.

Disclaimer: I do not own the turtles, Splinter, Casey, April, or a toaster oven. Not for profit – only for fun.

Chapter 1:

Ten years earlier …

Walking quickly across campus, a young woman fought fierce gusts of wind for possession of her pile of textbooks. The air was raw on her face, and she tried to hunch her shoulders and get her chin inside her scarf. She almost toppled over when a man charged up and threw a hearty arm around her shoulders.

"Juliet!" the man crowed happily. She hung on to her books, but just barely. "Just the woman I was looking for."

"Greg, don't you have class?" Juliet asked, her face puckering into a worried frown. She, herself, needed to be at class in just a few minutes.

"Aw, it's okay. But you have to answer my question right now," he insisted, eyes sparkling. Juliet shook her head.

"Greg, we'll talk about it tonight," she demurred, looking over at the building she needed to get to.

"No, now. Come on and say you'll marry me," Greg cajoled. Juliet bit her lip, and looked across the campus parking lot at the winter nude trees. They had been dating for less than a year, but he had already picked out a ring. It wasn't that she didn't love him, but she wanted to finish college before getting married.

"What about school?" she asked, voicing her concerns.

"We'll finish! I've already been accepted at the FBI academy, and you can transfer to a school that's nearby," he explained enthusiastically, nearly crushing her in a bear hug. "It'll be great, babe. You'll see."

Juliet sighed, and shook her head. He was like a little boy in his excitement. "Yes. Okay. We'll get married in the spring."

"Nope, we'll get married this winter over Christmas break," he returned firmly. "I have it all planned."

Juliet smiled, but inside she felt a flicker of frustration at his high handedness.

* * *

The door on the back of the truck rolled up with a bang, and Casey climbed up to shove some boxes to the edge so Sam could carry them in. 

"Sorry we didn't have an apartment for ya," Casey said, his voice muffled as he dragged boxes out from behind furniture. "Building's actually full for once. Not that we aren't grateful for the tenants."

"That's okay," Sam replied. "At least I can get all this stuff stored in your basement."

"Yeah. Be a shame if you had to sell everything, and it's just not gonna work haulin' this stuff through the sewers," Casey continued. He slid two boxes up, and Sam lifted the top one out. Casey jumped down to the ground, and grabbed the other box. "Yeah, you're not gonna need any of this stuff, huh? Not roomin' with Donnie. He's got everything …" Casey's speech halted as he noted Sam's wide eyed and open mouthed stare. "What?"

"I am not 'rooming' with Don," Sam replied, aghast, as a blush stole over her cheeks. "For your information, I will have my own room at the lair."

"Hey," Casey said, taking a step back and holding up the box in a warding gesture. "I was just assumin', seein' as how you two are always together, that … ya know." Casey lifted his massive shoulders in a little shrug, and Sam shut her mouth, a sour look on her face.

"There is no … 'you know', so … Just unload the truck," Sam said at last, uneasy and completely embarrassed over the entire conversation. Casey shrugged again, and turned to enter the back door to the building. It seemed to take less time to unload everything and haul it into April and Casey's basement than it had to load everything from her apartment

The sky was just beginning to move from the brilliant blue of the day to the purple of dusk when Sam's cell phone rang. She tugged it free from her backpack, and answered it.

"Hello?" Sam paused, and listened to the unfamiliar voice. "Oh yes, Mr. Adams. Your uncle said you needed some security help. Mmm-hmm. Tonight?" Sam glanced down at herself, and wrinkled her nose with disgust. "In about two hours, will work just fine." Sam was relieved she would have some time to shower and change before meeting a potential client. "Yes, I know where that park is. Great. I'll see you there." Sam disconnected, and smiled a little at the view through the windshield of the rental truck. Her possessions were stored; she had a place to live, and now maybe even a job again. It really couldn't get any better.

* * *

Opening one eye and peering at the darkness, Mike took a moment to reflect. What had woken him up? A sharp cry from the next room brought him to his feet instantly, and he ran out and whipped in through the neighboring door without pausing to knock. 

The figure on the bed was thrashing around, fighting the blankets that had twisted around her body during the night. Not seeing any direct danger, Mike stepped over to the bed, and sat down on the edge carefully. Her eyes were closed tightly, and her face was marred by a grimace of fear.

"Please, no," she begged, obviously in the throes of a nightmare. Her hands clawed at the blankets, and Mike caught her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake.

"Juliet, come on," he said, keeping his voice low. "Wake up. Juliet." Her eyes snapped open, and stared up at him, wide and alarmed. Her heart was pounding in her chest so hard he could see it through her thin t-shirt. "Just a dream, Jules," he assured her.

"The girls," Juliet gasped, panting as though she had been running for miles.

"They're fine. Asleep," Mike replied. He started unwinding the blanket from around her right arm. "You wanna talk about it?" He kept his eyes down, concentrating on freeing her from the bedding. He didn't want to pressure her into answering if she wasn't ready.

"It was just a dream," she whispered. She kicked at the blankets that had trapped her legs, and started to breathe easier when they weren't touching her anymore. She glanced up at Mike, and noticed that he was staring off into space. "It was a memory, actually." Mike's eyes turned to meet hers, and she tried on a lopsided smile. "Not a good memory." She bit her lip, and looked away from his face.

"Jules," Mike said softly, stroking her cheek. She blinked a few times.

"If I talk about it, then I'm going to cry," Juliet admitted.

"It's okay if you cry," Mike responded quietly.

"I don't want to cry. I'm sick of it," she whispered, choking up in spite of her intention not to. Mike stretched out next to her, and gathered Juliet into his arms. She pressed her face to his cheek. Like Noelle had when she was frightened and wanted to hide.

"It's okay," Mike offered. He pulled her body close to his, and tried to think of anything he could say that would make her feel better. He settled on the best thing he could think of. "You're safe now."

"I know," she replied, her breath tickling his skin. "But there's some stuff …" She moved back and looked into his eyes, meeting his concern with truth. "There's some stuff I need to deal with inside, okay?" She took a deep breath, calming a little more. "It's like there's poison inside me – his poison – and I need to get it out."

"You can tell me anything," Mike said firmly. "Anything. It won't make any difference."

Juliet laughed wryly. "Well, some of it … You'll probably go out and kill him."

Mike had to close his eyes for a moment. He had suspected that things had been very bad for Juliet during her marriage. His imagination had run wild for a while, wondering exactly what had driven her to such extremes to escape. But Raph had sat him down, and told him to hang on. To wait until Juliet could give him the facts.

"When I tell you, I want you to promise me something," Juliet began hesitantly. "You can never tell any of it to Rachel or Noelle."

"I wouldn't," Mike replied, a little relieved that he hadn't been forced to promise not to hurt the guy, although he was back in D.C. now, as far as they knew. "But don't they already know?"

Juliet shook her head a little, and brushed her knuckles over the back of his neck. Mike shivered, but forced himself to concentrate. "Rachel may remember some things, but I don't think Noelle remembers him at all." Juliet continued to slide her fingers around to the side of his neck, and caressed the muscle between neck and shoulder. "Whatever they remember, whatever he has done, he's their father. I can't … I can't badmouth him to them."

"Okay," Mike agreed. "I promise." Juliet leaned forward and kissed him lightly.

"Could you stay? For a little while?" Juliet asked, snuggling down into her pillow.

"Yeah," Mike sighed. He waited as her breathing evened out into sleep, and lulled by her warmth he allowed his eyes to close.

* * *

The park was reasonably small, and actually gorgeous at this time of night. The trees were nearly black where the streetlights didn't hit them. There were a few people walking on the paths, and enjoying the air. Sam parked across the street, and crossed quickly to the opposite side. On the sidewalk was the man she suspected she was meeting. 

"Mr. Adams?" Sam asked staring very far up at the tall man dressed in a sharp black suit and tan overcoat. She put out her hand at his slight nod. "Samantha Gallagher."

"You're a bodyguard?" Carl Adams said doubtfully. He sized her up with a dismissive eye roll, and shook his head. "I know my uncle's blind, but he said you were an FBI agent."

"I was," Sam responded. She glanced down at the little boy standing next to Mr. Adams. He looked to be around 10 or 11 years old, and his clothes weren't nearly as nice as his father's. "And who are you?" Sam queried the boy. He shied back, hiding behind Carl Adams' leg.

"That's Russell. Never mind about him," Carl said dismissively. Sam frowned, but it really wasn't her business how this guy dealt with his child. "So, I'm looking for a bodyguard. It's a full-time gig. That gonna work for you?"

"Absolutely," Sam replied, starting to feel relieved. A full-time job guarding this guy couldn't be all that bad. "I have a list of references you can call …" Sam opened up her bag, and tugged out a small sheaf of papers. Behind her, she heard brakes squeal sharply as a vehicle stopped suddenly. Sam held out the papers, but Carl failed to take them from her. His eyes were on the car behind her.

A man stepped out on the passenger side. Sam started to turn, and saw the muzzle of a gun out of the corner of her eye. She dropped, and on instinct grabbed the boy, jerking him to the ground as well. At least six shots rang out, and someone in the park screamed. Sam rolled onto her back, gun out now, and watched as the car drove off. A thud, and Carl Adams was lying on the sidewalk, blood pouring out of his chest and face.

Sam caught the boy when he tried to look, and covered his eyes. He just didn't need to see this. With her other hand, she scrambled out her cell phone, and dialed 911.

* * *

"You have the worst luck, Sam," Dan noted sadly from where he was crouched over the body. 

"Well?" she asked her friend. The NYPD detective shook his head, and stood up.

"Well, he's dead," he replied. He nodded to the coroner's people, and they began to move the body.

"Thanks. I wouldn't have guessed that," Sam retorted. "I'd like to know why."

"I would say that the .38 caliber slugs in him might have something to do with it," Dan continued dryly. "Sam, what the hell are you doing?"

"I was trying to get a job," Sam explained shortly. She glanced over at the boy, Russell, where he was sitting in the passenger seat of a squad car. She offered him a reassuring smile.

"A job? With Carl Adams?" Dan questioned sharply.

"He needed a bodyguard," Sam said, returning her attention to Dan. Dan goggled at her with a combination of amusement and scorn.

"Of course he does. He's only one of the biggest drug dealers in the city, not to mention a pimp," Dan pointed out. It was Sam's turn to gape in surprise. "Didn't you check him out first?"

"My neighbor said …" Sam shut her mouth quickly, and looked down at the ground. She wondered if the 'I'm an idiot' sign over her head was blinking.

"You know, if you wanted work, all you had to do was ask," Dan stated. Sam looked up at him. "There's a burger place right down the street that's hiring." Sam scowled at him. "By the way, who's the kid?" Dan asked, hooking a thumb in the direction of the squad car.

"Carl Adams' son," Sam replied, her face still wrinkled up in a frown.

Dan's eyebrows shot up. "I didn't know he had a kid. You want me to call child protective services?"

"No." The word was out of her mouth before she even thought about it. She could have slapped her forehead a moment later. What was she going to do with him? "I'll find his mom," she stated.

"It would probably be better if we let the proper authorities handle that," Dan conjectured. Sam ground her teeth together in frustration. Did no one trust her to do a simple job anymore? Reading her expression, Dan relented. "Okay, you take him to his mom, but let me know where he is. Deal?"

"Sure," Sam agreed blithely. "May I go now, detective? Or do you want to take me in for questioning?"

Dan smiled, and draped a friendly arm around her shoulders. "Not today. I know where to find you."

Sam found herself smirking in response. Not anymore, she thought.

* * *

Knocking on the familiar door, Sam tried to figure out the right way to tell her old friend his nephew had died. There seemed no decent way to do it, but maybe knowing his nephew's son was alive would help. Sam glanced down at the boy, but he seemed puzzled. The door opened in front of them, and Richard Adams stood in the open doorway. 

"Mr. Adams," Samantha greeted.

"Samantha, what are you doing here at this time of night?" Richard asked. He tilted his head for a moment. "You've got someone with you, too."

"Yes, Carl's son. I hate to just drop this on you, Mr. Adams …" Sam started.

"Carl doesn't have a son, Samantha," Richard intoned. Sam glanced down at the boy in confusion. He hadn't said a word on the trip over, so she had assumed … "Maybe you'd better come in and tell me what's going on," Richard invited.

Sam stepped into the dim hallway, and looked back to find Russell hadn't moved with her. "It's okay," she reassured him. He came forward, and Sam let the door close. In the living room, Richard flipped on a lamp for their comfort, and sat down on his sofa.

"Would you like anything Sam?" he queried politely.

"No, I don't want to take up too much of your time," Sam began. She leaned forward in her chair, and fumbled to explain. "I met your nephew, Carl, in the park this evening."

"Oh, wonderful," Mr. Adams said, his face lighting up. "I hope you two got on well."

Sam swallowed and shifted in her seat. "Um, well, I didn't have much of a chance to talk with him."

"He's dead," Russell said bluntly. Sam looked over at the boy with surprise. "He got shot."

"Sam?" Richard questioned in a shocked whisper.

"Um," Sam mumbled, wishing she could crawl into a hole. "I'm so sorry Mr. Adams. It was a drive-by. I'm afraid Russell is correct. Carl is dead." Richard's head bowed forward, and Sam bit her lip. "The police are investigating," she offered, trying to comfort him.

"Sure they are," Russell added, his tone sarcastic. "They'll look real hard for the guy who shot my mom's pimp."

"Russell," Sam said angrily, and to her friend, in a calmer tone. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Adams." She started to rise intending to get the boy out of there, but stopped at her old neighbor's voice.

"I know … what he was doing was wrong," Richard confessed, his words broken and slow. "I know that, but he was a good boy, Samantha. He paid my rent here, and looked after everyone in our family who needed help." Sam crossed to him, and knelt in front of him. She could see tears tracking down his lined face.

"If there's anything I can do," she offered gently. She touched his hand, as she had earlier in the hallway to say goodbye. He caught her hand between his, and held on tightly.

"Find the person who did this, Samantha. See that there's justice," Richard said fiercely. Sam found herself nodding.

"Of course. Of course, Richard," Sam replied.


	14. Startup Costs 2

Book 3 of Cat and Mouse

Title: Startup Costs

Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, and adult situations

Summary: Sam, former FBI agent and friend of the turtles starts a private security business in New York City, while back in the lair Mike deals with family life, and the return of Agent Sanders.

Credits: Thanks to the beautifully talented and endlessly patient Sassy for the beta read.

Disclaimer: I do not own the turtles, Splinter, Casey, April, or a toaster oven. Not for profit – only for fun.

Author's Notes: I'm back! (evil laughter, courtesy of Fallen Hikari). Wow, some lovely reviews thus far! Thank you. To answer some older questions from the reviews: Sam's father is still alive, but is in a 'home' as he cannot take care of himself. Sam's brother is dead. I, too, watch CSI, and I live for plot twists. So, on with the show!

Chapter 2:

10 years earlier …

What was supposed to be the happiest day of your life? Many would say, your wedding day. But for Juliet, it had been one long and arduous day of watching her happiness slowly unravel. Which would explain how she had now spent her first night as married woman curled up in a chair in a hotel room, alternately crying quietly and staring at the bed, where her new husband slept the sleep of the inebriated.

Maybe it had been the alcohol.

The ceremony and dinner following had gone well, she thought, but as the evening wore on she saw that Greg was starting to glare at her parents, at her, at the food. Nothing seemed to meet with his satisfaction.

The food had been too ethnic for his tastes, he had complained upon seeing the buffet her parents had arranged and paid for. After a couple of more hours, he had been convinced that her father hated him. He had to. Look at the miserable place he had chosen for their reception?

Through it all, Juliet had tried to maintain some level of calm. It was nerves, or drink, or all the people were setting him on edge.

They had gotten to the hotel around midnight, and she had been ready to relax a bit. But as soon as the door closed behind them, he had started shouting into her face. Her dress had been too revealing, he said. She looked like a whore, not a bride. He had torn her ivory dress that she had thought so beautiful and classic, shoved her on the bed, and violently entered her.

She refused to call it rape, even in her own mind. The word would surface as she took in the purple bruises that marred her arms, and then she would push it down into the black pit that had formed in her mind. She would also curl more tightly into the chair she had chosen to spend the night in. Better to sit upright and avoid sleep than to lie down next to him.

He had been drunk. That's all.

Her own husband wouldn't rape her on her wedding night. Would he?

* * *

"Don?" 

Sam drew her head back out of the partitioned work area that served as Don's home most of the time. He wasn't there. She bit her lip, and looked down at the boy at her side. He was studying the area carefully, his eyes widening at the array of television screens along one wall.

"They got cable?" Russell asked her, shoving his hands into his pockets. Sam smiled, and nodded. The boy had to belong somewhere, but so far she had no idea where. She had checked in with her neighbor, Richard, to learn that indeed this was not Carl Adams' son. Russell hadn't been much help on the topic, only telling her that he stayed with various people in different places. He would not discuss his mother at all.

"Hey, Sam," a friendly masculine voice called from the other side of the couch. Sam looked over, and her smile widened.

"Leo. I'm very glad to see you," Sam greeted him. Leo paused several steps away, and looked at the boy. Sam glanced down and saw the completely shocked look on Russell's face. "Um, Russell, this is a friend of mine. Leo, this is Russell." Mentally, Sam was berating herself for forgetting to warn the child about her unusual friends.

"Hello, Russell," Leo said, his voice gentle and calm, but he was giving Sam a significant look just the same. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"Yeah, sure," Russell replied, still gaping. Leo gestured for the humans to follow, and led them to the kitchen. Once there, Russell sat down at the end of the table, and rested his chin in his hands.

"I've got cereal. That okay?" Leo questioned. The boy nodded, and Leo got out a bowl from the cupboard. "So, busy night, Sam?"

She winced at the dry tone the turtle had used, and leaned against the counter. "You could say that. I found a client."

"That's great," Leo said, turning to look at her.

"He's dead," she continued. Leo's eyes flickered to the child, and then back to Sam again. "No relation. In fact, I'm having a little trouble figuring out where Russell is supposed to be." She eyed the boy for a moment, but his attention was caught up with the turtle. Leo poured cereal into the bowl, and got the milk out of the fridge.

"How old are you Russell?" Leo asked, setting the bowl and spoon down in front of the boy. Leo pulled out a chair, and sat down.

"Eleven," Russell answered shortly. He spooned up some cereal, and ate it quickly, nearly choking on it in his haste.

"What's your last name?" Leo queried.

"Why you wanna know?" the boy answered. He quickly polished off the bowl of cereal.

"Do you want some more?" Leo asked, noting the boy's obvious hunger. Russell nodded, and pushed his bowl over towards Leo. "Then tell me your last name," Leo stated, not moving from his chair. Russell frowned, and Leo sat back in his chair, at ease, and waited.

Sam smirked a little at the scene. In her opinion, Leo should be a cop. He had that scary kind of patience needed for questioning suspects.

Russell studied the empty bowl for a few minutes. His stomach growled audibly. "Dumont," he said a little angrily. Leo stood up, and fetched another bowl of cereal. Russell ate it a little more slowly this time.

"You've got something to start with," Leo noted, returning to his chair. "I could watch him, if you need to get going."

Sam started a little at the sudden offer. "If you're sure it's not a problem …"

"No, I think we'll do fine," Leo stated. And to Russell, he posed another question. "Do you want more cereal?"

"Do I gotta do anything for it?" the boy retorted smartly.

Leo smiled. "Not yet."

* * *

"What do ya think yer doin'?" 

Sam spun around at the growl, and frowned at the turtle who had just stepped off the elevator.

"Anyone tell you this isn't foster care?" Raph grumbled.

"Anyone tell you that you need to stay out of it?" Sam retorted. Raph's lip curled back to reveal his clenched teeth and his brow furrowed down. Sam took a moment to reflect on the wisdom of baiting Raphael, as well as a quick review of the exit points from the warehouse.

"This isn't your personal dumping ground for stray humans," he ground out. "You bring enough of 'em here, and we won't be a secret anymore."

"Look, he's a kid, and he needs to be somewhere while I find his family. I'm sorry if that cramps your style, Raphael," Sam replied flippantly. She turned away, intending to return to her car. Instead, she felt a hand on her shoulder spin her around, and her shoulder blades struck the side of the converted armored car parked in the warehouse.

"Get this straight," Raph snarled softly. Sam went to jerk away, and found herself held in place by strong hands on her biceps. "We are not your pets, or your deputies in your fight against crime."

"Gee, this feels familiar," Sam snapped, ignoring the warning. "It's been weeks since you smacked me around."

The pair glared at each other, both breathing harshly and gearing up for more of the argument, when they were interrupted.

"Raph," Don called from the front of the warehouse, where he had just arrived from the rooftop. "Problem?"

"No," Raph muttered. He released Sam's arms, leaving red indents behind. He straightened, and ambled away to the elevator without a backward glance.

"You know, I'm continually surprised that Juliet didn't take up with him," Sam noted, trying for a jest. "He's such a fun guy." The slight shaking in her voice spoiled the joke. "I was just heading out," Sam explained. Don nodded.

"Did you get any sleep?"

Sam had to smirk at that. "Am I on a curfew now?" Don sighed, and looked away to study the concrete floor under his feet. Sam scrubbed at her face, and tried to get her thoughts and emotions sorted out. "I'm sorry. I'm having a bad day, following a bad night. May I start over?"

"Yes, you may," Don responded. His mouth twitched up into a small smile. "Good morning, Sam."

"Good morning, Don. How are you?" Sam queried, pushing off from the truck and walking towards the turtle.

"Fine. You?" Sam reached his side, and they shared a genuine smile.

"Not so great, but hopefully things will improve," she replied lightly.

"Do you have time for breakfast?" Don asked.

"No. I've got some investigating to do, but I promise I'll be back for lunch."

* * *

Children sometimes perceive their world in terms of black and white – right and wrong – with little space in between for the vagaries of emotion. 

Rachel walked into her mother's bedroom, looking for a pair of socks, and froze in the doorway. Light from the hall revealed two on the bed where there should only be one. Rachel felt a strange tightness in her throat and chest as she backed up, and shut the door again. She headed back to her room, but paused outside the door. She didn't want to go in and wake up Noelle. Her sister would likely make a fuss.

Instead, Rachel headed for the stairs, her head hurting her a little while she tried to puzzle it all out. She walked down, and found that the lair was still mostly dark. She could hear Leo's voice in the kitchen. Cautiously moving through the dimness, Rachel found her way to the little bridge. This was her favorite place, and she sat down to rest her head against the railing while she watched the water.

She knew, of course, that things had changed. They lived here now, with Leo, Don, Raph, Mike and Sensei Splinter. And Samantha was moving in, too. It was a big place, so that was okay. What Rachel didn't understand, was why her mother was so close to Mike.

Rachel found herself feeling two things at once. She did like Mike's jokes, and he was always nice to her and Noelle, but at the same time she didn't want him being so nice to her mom. Because, well, because it didn't make her feel good inside.

She could remember the divorce quite well. She could recall moving out of the nice house they had lived in, and all the relocating that had followed. She knew her dad had done some things that weren't good. She wrapped her hands around the support bars of the railing, and glowered at the swirling water.

Just because her dad had done some bad things didn't mean that Mike got to be her dad now. That wasn't fair, really. No one had asked her, Rachel, if it was okay. And it wasn't okay for her mom to let Mike sleep in her bed.

It wasn't okay at all.

* * *

Detective Dan Wa entered the interrogation room, and yawned hugely. A man stood up from the table, and offered a large cup of coffee. 

"I'm sorry to drag you in after a long night, Detective," the man said apologetically. Dan nodded, and accepted the coffee with a tired smile.

"That's alright, Agent …," Dan sat down, still fumbling in his mind for the name.

"Sanders," Greg noted, as he, too, resumed his seat. "But it is important that I speak with you. You may recall a report you filed on a car bomb some weeks ago. Another agent was involved …"

"Samantha, right," Dan said, nodding, and then he took a gulp of his coffee. He missed the widening of Agent Sanders' eyes at Dan's familiar use of Gallagher's given name.

"Samantha Gallagher, yes. There is a problem with the report you filed, and I hoped we could clear it up," Sanders added smoothly.

Dan set down his coffee, and studied the agent. "Problem?"

"There is insufficient physical evidence of a victim in the vehicle. Yet, your eyewitness account is that a brunette female was in the car," Sanders stated, tapping his manicured nails on the table. Dan frowned, both at the man's words, and his tapping.

"There was a woman in that car. I saw her," Dan affirmed, his tone less friendly now.

"Are you quite certain, Detective," Sanders said, leaning forward to stare hard at Dan. "That your dear friend Samantha didn't ask you to say there was a woman in the car?"

"No, I'm quite certain that is not what happened," Dan gritted out. "I think we're done here, Agent Sanders." Dan stood up, and prepared to leave.

"Detective," Sanders interrupted, and when Dan turned back, the Agent smiled broadly. "Don't forget your coffee."

* * *

Known associates: it was police lingo for the other people with arrest records three miles long that appeared in your file. In the case of Carl Adams, dealers, addicts, petty thieves and prostitutes populated it. There was a 'Dumont' on the list. Josephine Dumont, age 25, prostitute, and deceased as of yesterday. No coroner's report as yet, but the tech she had talked to figured it for a drug overdose. 

Sam set the case file down, and rubbed her eyes. The lack of sleep was starting to get to her, and she glanced at the clock. Ten a.m., but the day was not improving at all. She shut the file, and rested her elbows on the table, holding up her head with effort. Russell Dumont's birth records listed no father, and Josephine Dumont listed no family on any of her records. It was a big fat zero all the way around. As far as the system was concerned, this kid had absolutely no one.

Taking out thelist of known associates again; Sam wrote the names and supposed addressesof several of the prostitutes. Tonight, she could try questioning some of these women to see if any of them had known Josephine. This task complete, she stood up and stretched out the kinks in her neck. She packed up her things, and walked out of the bustling homicide division. Dan had given her far more leeway than he should have, but Sam was grateful. This was almost like working again, and it felt good to being doing something.

"Hey," a voice called from the hallway behind her. Sam turned, and offered Dan a smile. "Find anything?"

"Some names to follow up on. You look like hell," Sam noted. Dan rubbed at the back of his neck, and regarded her with a strange expression on his face.

"I had a visitor today," he began, when someone shouted from down the hall.

"Dan, Captain wants to see you!" Dan groaned. "Now!"

"I'll call you later, Sam. Be careful," Dan offered as he hurried away. Sam watched her friend disappear through a doorway.

She left out the front door, and winced at the bright sunshine. She hurriedly slipped on her sunglasses on her way to her car. She climbed in, and flinched at the hot plastic steering wheel. Soon, she could slip into the cool, dim lair. Maybe catch a few hours of sleep, and a meal that had actually been cooked.

Who knew that the sewer could feel so homey?

Her cell phone chose that moment to ring, and she briefly debated tossing it out the window. Instead, she retrieved it from her bag and answered it. Before she could even start to say hello, a female voice screeched out at her.

"Who is this?"

"Um, I'm Samantha Gallagher. And you are?" Sam asked, frowning at the shrill voice that had assaulted her eardrums.

"Why's Carl got your phone number?" the woman questioned suspiciously.

"He was going to hire me to help with a security problem," Sam explained as patiently as she could.

"Oh," the woman said, apparently mollified. "Well, if you see him, you tell him that we got a problem with one of the new girls on 26th."

Sam closed her eyes, and fought down a mildly hysterical chuckle. From FBI agent to taking messages for a pimp/drug dealer – now that's a fall from grace. She was getting a little punch drunk from exhaustion.

"Carl is dead, Miss …?"

"Oh, shit!" The woman exclaimed. "What am I gonna do? Jesus!" The woman started to sob uncontrollably, and Sam held the phone away as the woman wailed in a wild display of grief. After the storm seemed to abate somewhat, Sam tried talking to the caller again.

"Would you know a Josephine Dumont?" Sam queried gently.

A loud sniff returned over the phone. "Josie? She's dead," the woman reported.

"Yes, I know, but I was wondering if she had any family I could contact. You see, her son is …"

"Russell? Well thank God! I was out of my mind worrying over that child," the woman said, her grief apparently forgotten for now. "You just bring him here. I take care of all the kids, really. He can stay with me."

"And where would 'here' be?" Sam asked, already rooting around for a pen and paper.

* * *

An hour later, Sam pulled up in front of a tenement building that looked like it might have seen better days during the Jurassic period. She locked her car with a brief prayer that it would still be there when she returned, and went inside. The caller, who had eventually given her name as Vonda, had provided directions to this address. Finding the elevator out of order, Sam climbed the stairs to the fifth floor. Standing in front of the apartment door, she knocked lightly, and listened to the sound of chattering children coming from inside. 

The door opened a moment later, and Sam got her first look at Vonda. The woman was quite tall, with nearly orange streaks in her hair.

"You gotta be Samantha," Vonda greeted, offering a wide and toothy grin showing a couple of gold teeth. "Where's Russell?"

"With friends of mine," Sam replied. "I thought perhaps we could talk a little first?"

"Sure, come on in." Sam entered the apartment, and found herself in a fairly bright and sunny living room. Four little boys and girls were coloring pictures on the coffee table. "I was just feedin' the baby," Vonda explained, continuing on into a clean but clearly old kitchen. True to her word, a baby sat in a high chair at the end of the kitchen table with a tipped over bowl of some mashed food. "Have a seat, Samantha, while I clean this child up."

Sam sat down in one of the vinyl covered kitchen chairs, and watched as Vonda efficiently wiped up the mess, and started feeding the child again.

"You're not here to find Russell's father, I hope, 'cause I got no idea who he is," Vonda said firmly. "Josie was on the street workin' for another man before she got on with Carl. Could be just about anyone." Sam nodded. She had figured that was the case. "But I have a number for his grandmother, if you need it."

It was so out of the blue, and so simple, that Sam couldn't believe she had heard correctly. "His grandmother?"

"Mmm hmm. She lives upstate, but she'd take him in. You want me to give her a call?"

"Yes. Yes, please," Sam replied. She watched, quietly amazed, as Vonda made the call, fed the infant, dealt with the other children, and did all of it with a calm assurance Sam couldn't hope to match in any part of her life.

"Well, I can send him on the bus tomorrow, if you bring him by here in the morning." Sam nodded agreeably, but she didn't get up to leave. "So what else are you here for? 'Cause I doubt you're stickin' around here because you like the sound of my voice." Vonda offered her a wink, and Sam smiled.

"I would like to find out who killed Carl Adams," Sam stated. Vonda tilted her head, and seemed to be thinking about that fairly seriously.

"Carl had a lotta enemies. Other dealers, pimps, customers …," Vonda listed. "I heard a lot about it, takin' his calls and stuff."

"He had said he was having 'security' problems. Could there be a connection?" Sam questioned. Vonda nodded.

"Oh, yes. That would be Larry Bright. He took some of Carl's girls, and shot one of Carl's suppliers," Vonda recalled, lifting the baby from the seat and holding the child with practiced ease.

"Larry Bright," Sam repeated, committing the name to memory. "Would you know where I could find him?"

"No, but I know one of his girls. Sherry. You go to 26th, and ask for her by name. I'll let her know you're comin'."

* * *

"So what do you do down here all day?" Russell asked, sitting on the ledge surrounding the practice area. Leo halted his kata, and answered. 

"We train, and patrol at night." Leo started again, and waited for the next question.

"Is that …? What you're doing …? Is that training?" Russell craned his neck, and tried to get a better view of the turtle from his distant seat.

"Yes, it is," Leo responded. He noted the boy's problem, and waved a hand in invitation. "You may come closer."

"You sure you won't stick me with those?" Russell worried, but he got up from his resting place, and came down the steps to the practice floor. Leo sheathed his swords to make the boy a little less nervous. "Well, aren't you gonna do any more?" Russell asked once he reached Leo's side.

"Well, how about you do some?" Leo offered. The boy's dark eyes widened, and a grin broke out on his face.

"For real? Yeah," Russell said, accepting. "What do I do?"

"Follow what I do, for now. As you progress, we'll move onto other levels of difficulty," Leo explained briefly. He started a simple form, and Russell copied him. Each movement was slow, and Russell's balance wasn't very good, but it didn't matter to the boy. His eyes lit up with the open joy of a child who had been denied many opportunities to accomplish something.

One half hour later, Leo called a halt. Russell wiped at the sweat on his forehead as he followed Leo to the kitchen. The turtle dug out two bottles of water, and handed one to Russell. The child drank it gratefully.

His thirst quenched, Russell beamed up at Leo. "That was great. Thanks for teachin' me."

"We'll do some more tomorrow," Leo replied, pleased at the boy's happiness with the lesson.

"So, what am I supposed to call you? Mr. Leo, or what?" Russell asked, sipping at his water.

"How about 'sensei'?"

"Yeah, I guess. So now what, Sensei?"

Leo grimaced, and made a show of waving away an offensive smell. "Shower and change."

"I don't got any other clothes here," Russell noted unhappily.

Leo slipped an arm around the boy's thin shoulders. "We'll find some, and then I'll show you where Mike hid the video games."


	15. Startup Costs 3

Book 3 of Cat and Mouse

Title: Startup Costs

Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, and adult situations

Summary: Sam, former FBI agent and friend of the turtles starts a private security business in New York City, while back in the lair Mike deals with family life, and the return of Agent Sanders.

Credits: Thanks to the beautifully talented and endlessly patient Sassy for the beta read.

Disclaimer: I do not own the turtles, Splinter, Casey, April, or a toaster oven. Not for profit – only for fun.

Author's Notes: Wow! Lots of great reviews, and I appreciate every single one. On author alerts, which has been mentioned several times … I'm not getting them either, so something is broken.

Pacphys: Juliet's situation was horrible and sick making, and it is also something that happens all around us. (On the soapbox) If you, or someone you know, are in this kind of situation, please seek out a shelter and counseling service. Nearly every city of any size has these types of services available. (Off the soapbox)

Reinbeauchaser: On the mushing of words and other edit problem. Yes, I intend to go back after everything is posted and fix all that stuff. I don't want to do it now, because with my luck the author alerts will come back on and everyone will think new chapters were posted. On Raphael, it is entirely possible he will not remain a total jerk for the entirety of this story (like, in the next installment – Book 4).

Sporksareweird: Yes! I'm glad someone caught my little CSI joke.

Fallen Hikari: This chapter does not really require the evil laugh. The next two … (insert evil laugh).

To BubblyShell, Reluctant Dragon, Kristy99, Rizzle, and Sassy (yay! New chapter of 'Plague') thank you for your encouraging comments.

Chapter 3:

Six years earlier …

She had made pork chops. That was all it had taken to set him off this time.

Juliet had managed to get away, grab Rachel, and hide in a closet on the second floor. So far, he hadn't found them. She could hear him downstairs, smashing dishes in the kitchen – her family heirloom dishes from her grandmother. She would have wept over the loss, but her eyes were dry and sore. Too much crying had left her with nothing to give to this new assault.

Cuddling her barely two-year-old daughter, Juliet leaned her head back against the wall and tried to relax. Sleep was out of the question, but she needed to rest her mind for a few minutes. Her eyes drifted closed.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs roused her quickly. Cautiously, Juliet slipped a hand over her little girl's mouth to prevent the child from giving away their hiding spot. She saw a tall shadow pass in front of the levered doors of the closet. Rachel struggled a little in her arms, trying to get her mouth free. Juliet hung on, and watched the shadow.

Finally, he left the room, and Juliet heard his footsteps go back downstairs. The crashing sounds resumed, and Juliet took her hand away.

Rachel started to cry a little, and Juliet hugged her child close, both giving and receiving comfort.

* * *

Sam entered the room she had only been in once before, and dropped onto the bed gratefully. She had arrived too late to have lunch, and hadn't been able to find Don to apologize. She flung an arm over her eyes, and tried to bring her thoughts to a halt. She needed some sleep before she went searching for Sherry. 

Looking for Carl's killer was most likely an exercise in futility, and really, why go to the trouble? He had been a client – almost. In some way, Sam felt like she owed this much to Carl, and to his uncle, her old neighbor Richard. It was unlikely that the police would make much effort to find whoever had gunned down someone like Carl.

The door opened, and soft footsteps crossed the room. She heard the clink of dishes being set on the bedside table. She lowered her arm to see a plate with a sandwich and chips, and a glass of iced tea resting beside her head.

"I'm sorry," she offered to her quiet visitor.

"Did you find Russell's mother?" Don asked, looking down into her bloodshot eyes.

"Another lead," Sam replied vaguely. She sat up, and picked up a chip. She looked at it for a while, and debated how much to say. "Not much, but I'm going to keep trying."

Don's eyes narrowed, and had Sam looked up she would have realized that Don sensed some deception in her. It was in the tilt of her head and the set of her shoulders and the slightly higher tone of voice. She might have fooled someone else, but Don had been trained in observation.

"Thank you for lunch," she said, and waved the chip a bit, finally meeting his eyes. Don had smoothed his expression over to something she would read as simple friendliness. She popped the chip into her mouth, and her eyes slid away from his.

He used an internal meditation technique to retain a hold on his temper. She was fortunate he wasn't Raphael, because he was sorely tempted to shake her and demand to know what she was up to. Instead, he maintained his calm, and gave her a smile.

"Enjoy," he replied, and headed back out. "Get some sleep." Once the door was closed, he took a moment to breathe deeply. The anger trembled inside of him again, and Mike, passing by, stopped to look at him sharply.

"You okay, bro?" Mike asked, his expression concerned.

"I'll be fine, Mikey," Don responded. "Could you take my patrol tonight with Raph? I have something to do."

* * *

"Okay, watch me, Rachel," Mike instructed. He demonstrated a kata, showing strong blocking. Noelle, standing not far away, mimicked him, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she put in an effort to copy the move exactly. Rachel remained with her arms crossed over her chest, and a mutinous expression on her face. Mike straightened, and studied the girl, puzzled. 

"What's going on, Rach?" Mike asked.

"I don't wanna do this anymore," Rachel replied contemptuously. "It's stupid."

Mike's eye ridges shot up in surprise at the turn around in her attitude. "I thought you wanted to be a butt-kicking ninja?"

"I don't wanna be like you," Rachel shot back. Juliet, hopping down into the practice space, froze in surprise at the venom in her daughter's voice.

"Ninjitsu isn't something you get to drop in and out of whenever you feel like it, Rachel," Mike said, taking a hard line approach. "It's a commitment."

"You can't tell me what to do!" Rachel shouted. "You're not my dad!"

"Rachel …," Juliet started.

"I hate it here!" Rachel shrieked, turning on her mother with tears starting in her eyes. "I want to go home! I want to go back to Dad's!" At the horrified look on her mother's face, Rachel fled the practice area, and ran to her room. The door slammed shut behind her, cutting off her sobs.

Mike and Juliet stared at each other, equally shocked by the turn of events. For the life of her, Juliet couldn't think of what had brought this on.

Noelle, silent and wide-eyed through all of this, reached out to pat Mike's hand. He looked down at the four-year-old, and she gave him a sad look.

"Rachel's mad," Noelle noted. Mike swallowed, and put a hand on the little girl's head.

"Yeah, she is," he responded in what he hoped was a calm tone of voice.

"You can be my dad," Noelle offered brightly, in the same way she would offer a toy to another child. Mike replied with a lopsided grin, and tousled her hair.

"You wanna practice some more?" he asked. Noelle nodded, and he glanced over at Juliet. She pointed upstairs, and gave him a reassuring smile. Mike nodded, and turned back to Noelle. "Okay, how about you show me how well you do that side kick?"

* * *

Getting out of the lair unseen had been an exercise in patience and intestinal fortitude, but she had made it. Sam wished she had been able to change into something more undercover than jeans and a t-shirt. But if she had dressed like a hooker, Don might have suspected something. 

She parked her rattletrap car – the replacement she could afford for the one she had blown up – some distance away and walked to her destination. A three-block strip that served as a red light district, sex shops, and strip clubs populated this section of 26th. Out front, a collection women and teens strolled up and down their sections of sidewalk, calling to the cars.

In front of the ill-named 'World of Dolls', Sam spotted the person she assumed was Sherry. The description had been pretty good. Late teens, lavender streaked hair, and made up like some horrific combination of Goth girl and child prostitute. Sam approached her, and was recognized immediately.

"Oh, God, you look like a cop," the girl complained before Sam had an opportunity to speak.

"All the more reason to get this interview over with quickly," Sam retorted, stuffing her hands in her pockets self-consciously.

"Couldn't you have brought a guy with you, or something, so you look like a customer?" the girl whined, as she nervously looked around.

"I could have brought a big turtle," Sam muttered as she glanced up the street, wondering whom the girl was watching for.

"Hey, leave your kinks at home, okay? Vonda said you wanted information, and that you'd pay," Sherry demanded. Sam's expression soured with frustration. Helpful Vonda.

"How much for Bright's address?" Sam asked, getting right to the point.

"Hundred dollars," Sherry replied without pause. Sam's eyes nearly bugged out.

"A hundred? That's more than you probably make in a night!" Sam protested, thinking about the meager contents of her wallet.

"God, you cops are so cheap," Sherry said with distaste. "Fifty, or forget it."

Grumbling under her breath, Sam pulled out her wallet, and handed over two twenties and a ten. Sherry counted them, and then stuffed them into the front pocket of her skirt. "The address?" Sam reminded.

"The apartment building on 102nd and Eastman. Room 303," Sherry replied. "Now get lost, 'cause you're scaring away my customers." Sherry offered a smile across the street to some guy in a trench coat, and Sam rolled her eyes.

On the other side of the late-night traffic, Agent Greg Sanders returned the young prostitute's smile with one of his own. He turned his face into the turned up collar of his coat when Gallagher looked over. He watched from the corner of his eye as Sam left the hooker. Once she was out of sight, Sanders stepped across to the girl, and grinned down at her.

"I need some information," he stated in his gentlest voice. "Do you think you could help me?"

"Sure baby," Sherry simpered, batting her made up eyes at him. "Anything's available for the right price."

* * *

"Rachel, may I speak with you?" 

The girl looked up at her door, surprised by the voice. She had expected her mother to come storming in demanding an explanation for her behavior. Rachel stood up, and brushed at her wet eyes before opening the door.

"Hello, Sensei," she greeted the elderly rat. Splinter smiled down at her.

"May I come in?" he queried. She nodded, and Splinter entered the room. He moved over to the center of the room, and lowered himself to the rug. "Please, come and sit beside me, Rachel." Rachel obeyed, and waited for whatever the rat had come to say.

"You have been crying," Splinter noted. Rachel brushed at her cheeks in an effort to hide the evidence. "It is alright to cry when you are upset. Would you tell me what has made you cry today?"

"I …," Rachel hesitated. "Mike is like your son, right?" Splinter nodded. "Then I don't think you can help me."

"And why not?" Splinter asked, resting his cane across his bent knees.

"'Cause I don't like him," Rachel explained, her temper showing in her tone. Splinter tilted his furry head, and studied the girl carefully.

"I do not think that is true. I think, instead, that you do not wish to like him." The rat's whiskers twitched, and Rachel frowned trying to understand his words. "You do not wish to be disloyal to your father."

"Mike's not my dad," Rachel said angrily. "I want him to quit acting like he is."

"I do not believe that Michaelangelo is trying to replace your father in your heart, Rachel," Splinter soothed. "The place in your heart that belongs to your father can never be taken away without your consent. Michaelangelo wishes to be in your heart as well, but not to take anything away from you." Splinter glanced up, noting a movement in the open doorway.

"He wants to take my dad's place in Mom's heart," Rachel noted darkly. Splinter met Juliet's eyes, and shook his head very slightly. The woman seemed to understand the message, and backed away silently.

"Over time, Rachel, hearts may change. When you are older, this will be easier for you to understand," Splinter said, but he could see that this explanation did not satisfy by the deep line between the girl's brows, and the hurt expression on her face. "Do you believe that your mother and father should be together?"

Rachel turned her face away, a pout beginning to form on her soft mouth.

"Was your mother happy?"

"No," Rachel admitted softly. Her throat was getting tight and achy again.

"Is your mother happy now?" Splinter prodded.

"Yes, but she shouldn't be!" Rachel cried. "She should be with Dad so we can be a family again."

Splinter patted the weeping girl's shoulder. "I am an old rat, and I do not have all the answers to ease your pain. But I do know this. A thing, once broken, can never be put back together the same way again. Pieces are always missing, and there are visible cracks. It is better to leave it broken, and find a new use for the pieces that you have."

"So I should be nice to Mike," Rachel interpreted, drying her eyes. Splinter smiled through his fur at her, still patting, and nodded.


	16. Startup Costs 4

Book 3 of Cat and Mouse

Title: Startup Costs

Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, and adult situations

Summary: Sam, former FBI agent and friend of the turtles starts a private security business in New York City, while back in the lair Mike deals with family life, and the return of Agent Sanders.

Credits: Thanks to the beautifully talented and endlessly patient Sassy for the beta read.

Disclaimer: I do not own the turtles, Splinter, Casey, April, or a toaster oven. Not for profit – only for fun.

Author's Notes: The reviews, as usual, are fantastically encouraging.

Pacphys: That just sucks that you went through all that. Good for you that you got out of a bad situation.

Reluctant Dragon: Yes! You get the prize! Spot on with Raph's completely understandable anger with Sam. That's exactly the point I was trying to make.

Thanks BubblyShell, Sassy, Fallen Hikari and Reinbeauchaser for your excellent comments. Rachel's story has actually been a fairly large challenge for me, and I'm relieved that her tale is believable. Now, I must insert an evil laugh …

Chapter 4:

Four years earlier …

A little pink line should not bring terror. Juliet checked the innocuous white stick again, but the result remained the same.

She was pregnant – again.

Juliet slid down the wall of the small blue bathroom, and curled into a ball against the cold tile wall. The stick in her hand shook wildly back and forth. In less than an hour, Greg would be home and she would have to tell him. She shuddered at the idea. He would be furious. He had said that one child was enough, and that she could not have any more.

God knows, she hadn't been trying. Her pill must have stopped working, but he wouldn't accept that as an excuse.

She swallowed, and moved unsteadily to her feet. She had to pick up Rachel from preschool, and make dinner. There was no time to panic. Later, when his eyes turned cold at the news. When he threw her into their bedroom and used his fists to punish her – then it would be time to panic.

* * *

Slipping into an alley after successfully questioning Sherry, Sam was in a hurry to get to her car. She wasn't certain what she was going to do when she found Bright. Citizen's arrest? Unlikely, but she felt a little like she was on a speeding train, and the brakes seemed just out of reach. She hurried along, ignoring the shadows around her, until one of them moved into her path. 

Sam jumped back, completely surprised, and Don caught her elbow in a tight grip to keep her from running.

"You scared me half to death," Sam complained breathlessly, her heart beating triple time in her chest from the fright.

"What are you doing?" Don questioned, his tone brusque.

"You mean when you're not jumping out of the shadows at me?" Sam retorted. She tried shaking his hand off, but his fingers dug in a little to demonstrate that he wasn't letting go. "What?" she asked, her voice reflecting her irritation at being stopped. If she stopped, then she might be forced to think. A noise came from the mouth of the alley - a group of people walked by, talking loudly. Don tugged on her arm, and she followed him down the alley to a graffiti covered door. "Where do you think ...?" she began, only to have her words dry up as Don slammed his shoulder into the door. It popped open to reveal only blackness beyond.

He drew her into the darkness, and shoved the door shut with his free hand.

Sam shivered. It was utterly black in here. It must have been a warehouse at one point, but now the windows were covered and the cavernous space seemed to echo her breathing.

"Don ...," Sam started, feeling little prickles of fear at his silence. He was still holding her arm tightly, so she knew he was still there.

"What ... do you think ... you are doing?" he asked again through gritted teeth, and Sam realized he was well and truly angry. "And don't tell me you are looking for Russell's mother, because I know she's dead."

"I ... I know who shot Carl Adams," Sam confessed. She blinked her eyes repeatedly, but the dark remained as heavily as before.

"Then tell the police," Don replied sharply.

"They won't do anything," Sam retorted. "They don't care who shot a drug dealer."

"Then why do you care?" Don queried. The response was silence. "Do you even know what you're doing anymore?" Sam shook her head, and then wondered if he could see the movement. He let go of her arm, and Sam felt him withdraw a pace. "Are you trying to kill yourself?" he asked in a gentler tone.

"No," Sam replied, shocked. "No, I just ... I owe it to him ... to find out who killed him."

"And do what? Exact revenge?"

What _was_ she going to do when she got to Bright's? "That's none of your concern," she answered icily, covering over her own uncertainty with anger.

"I've made it my concern," he retorted.

"Then stop," Sam raged. "Stop following me, and stop interfering!" Her louder tone disturbed something in the darkness, and she heard the anxious rustle of wings from somewhere above their heads. "I don't know who you think you are to tell me what to do!"

"I thought I was your friend," Don replied, his voice softer now.

"Oh, come on," Sam scoffed, her temper out of her control now. Words were tumbling out of her mouth that she would wish later she had never said. "You look at Juliet and Mike, and you think that could be us! So you puppy-dog around after me in the hopes I'll forget what you are." The accusation was met with a deep silence. Sam put a hand to her heated face, and wondered if it was the complete darkness, or her exhaustion, that were making her say these things.

"So I'm good enough when you need help." Don's voice floated out of the blackness, and Sam winced at the hurt and betrayal in it. "You can forget that I'm not human when I'm convenient to you."

It was like standing on a ledge, high above the street. Sam backed off, feeling a little sick at what had just happened between them. "Don, I'm tired and ..."

"No, I'm glad you told me how you feel," Don replied, his voice now disturbingly cold. She heard something near where she thought the door was. It opened a little, and a shaft of pale light came in, revealing Don's profile. "Be assured I will not be 'puppy-dogging' after you anymore." The door was pushed wide open, and he vanished through it.

Sam put her hands to her face, and tried to find a sliver of rational thought in her own mind. Why? Why had she done that? It was completely insane … But was it untrue? She did know, in her own mind, that a relationship between them was impossible, right? Because they were too different, weren't they?

But he cared, and he was trying to protect her. And she had uttered the words most likely to drive him away for a simple reason. To make sure Don was far, far away when she went after Bright. Because she knew what she was going to do when she got to the apartment.

She was going to kill him.

* * *

This building was far worse than Vonda's, and even the darkness of night was not kind enough to hide the crumbling facade,broken windows, and trash piled up out front. This building was the end of the line – a bare step up from the street. Sam climbed out of her car, and made sure she had a flashlight in her pocket. It didn't look like any lights were on inside. 

The front door was open, and the mailboxes were mostly jimmied and hanging askew. One bare bulb lit the front entryway, but there was plenty of room for shadows. Sam kept one hand on her gun as she moved up the stairs. From somewhere above, just as she reached the third floor, she heard a thin scream. The sound sent a shiver down her spine, but she gritted her teeth and kept on.

As expected, the third floor hallway was completely dark. Sam used her flashlight, checking numbers until she reached 303. She paused, fighting a roiling nausea at the combined smells of vomit, cooking, and layers of cigarette smoke. She reached up and knocked, and then waited a minute feeling foolish. Finally she took a step back, and kicked the door in.

Like a flimsy piece of cardboard it gave immediately to reveal an interior nearly as dim as the hall. A light glowed from off to the right, and Sam followed it, her hand to her nose to block some of the stench. She stepped through into what appeared to be a living room with a sagging sofa and a lamp on the floor. Her quarry, Bright, was lounging on the floor in jeans and a soiled t-shirt. He blinked owlishly up at her, but showed no indication of fear or concern. A gun lay on the sofa cushion not far away, but he made no move to go for it.

He blinked again, and Sam took in the open shoebox near his left leg. It was obvious he was high. As far as he was concerned, she was just another hallucination.

Cautiously, she drew her gun. A bead of sweat fell into her left eye, and she swiped it away with her free hand, grimacing at the sting. She held the gun out, two handed grip now, and sighted down the barrel at Bright. Here was the man who had killed Richard's nephew in cold blood less than 48 hours ago. Here he was, in front of her. Her hands trembled a little, and the barrel wavered.

Sam lowered the gun, and ground her teeth together in frustration.

She couldn't do it. No matter what excuse entered her head: here was scum that no one would miss; it was justice. She still couldn't do it. Roughly she shoved the gun back into the holster.

The familiar sound of a weapon cocking behind her made her start to spin around. Two shots fired, the bullets flying past her cheek close enough that she felt the heat of their passing. They slammed into their target, and Bright's body jerked and then fell limp again.

Realizing it was already too late – she had been much too slow, Sam turned to face the shooter.

"Well," Sanders said, his gun now pointing at Sam. "Now that we're alone, where is my wife?"


	17. Startup Costs 5

Book 3 of Cat and Mouse

Title: Startup Costs

Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, and adult situations

Summary: Sam, former FBI agent and friend of the turtles starts a private security business in New York City, while back in the lair Mike deals with family life, and the return of Agent Sanders.

Credits: Thanks to the beautifully talented and endlessly patient Sassy for the beta read.

Disclaimer: I do not own the turtles, Splinter, Casey, April, or a toaster oven. Not for profit – only for fun.

Author's Notes: Well, Rizzleberry said 'Hurry up', so I did. This is the last chapter in this book. There is one more book folks, and it's in the editing process right now so I expect to be posting in the next week.

Reluctant Dragon: Sam's motivations for everything are pretty questionable right now. She's been under some fairly intense pressure, and her life has been on a roller coaster. Eventually, she might straighten out. We'll see. Oh, and if Don is going to be following anyone around – it's me! (Ahem)

Fallen Hikari: This is your fault, you know. You gave me an evil laugh. I had to find ways to put it to use. And I, too, saw that movie (and read the book). But that is not the inspiration for Juliet's story.

Reinbeauchaser: Yes, it was pretty horrible reading Sam saying that stuff to Don. I know that feeling well. It's probably exactly how I felt when Mindy refused to leave New York with Don in 'Just Outside My Window'. (I love that story!)

BubblyShell: You saw it coming. But will the turtles rescue her? Hmmm. (Insert evil laugh)

Chapter 5:

Three years earlier …

"Goddamn it Noelle! How many times do you have to be told?"

A one-year-old girl, her eyes wide and fearful, stood surrounded by a flurry of paper. It had been a stack of case files on the corner of the dining room table before the child had grabbed the corner of one page, and pulled. Juliet rounded the corner at a dead run from the kitchen in time to see Greg lean down and grab the little girl by her arms, shaking her violently.

"Never, ever touch my things!" he screamed, spittle spraying out of his mouth. Noelle shrieked in terror, and Juliet rushed at her husband.

"Stop it!" she shouted, grabbing his shoulder. "Let her go!" He turned on her, releasing the child who fell back onto the carpet in a daze, and grabbed Juliet by the hair.

"Never interrupt me when I am disciplining our children," he barked, throwing her aside by her hair. Her back hit the wall, and she bounced forward, a snarl disfiguring her face.

"Don't you touch her!" she screamed. She picked up a chair, and threw it in his direction. The surprised look on his face didn't even faze her. "Don't you ever touch her!"

It was a turning point that should have come long before. The next morning, after her husband had gone to work, Juliet packed her car and left, taking her children away from a man who had become a monster in her eyes.

* * *

The sound of glass breaking in another room interrupted Sanders before he could continue with his line of questioning. Something hulking and green stepped in the doorway, and Greg Sanders' mouth dropped open in slack surprise. 

"What the …?" Before Don could move though, Sanders had recovered enough to retrain his gun on Samantha. Sam met Don's eyes across the dim room. She could see him gauging the distance and trying to decide what to do. He offered her a wan smile.

"I'm sorry I followed you again," he said, glancing over at Sanders. The gun never wavered, and Sam swallowed around a lump in her throat.

"Considering the circumstances, I think that's okay," Sam replied. Their eyes met again. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "For everything."

"You … Whatever you are," Sanders interrupted, eying the turtle. "Stay very still. Gallagher, walk towards me." Sam hesitated. "Now, Gallagher." Sam took five steps, bringing her closer to Sanders. He smirked down at her, and then pressed the barrel of the gun to her temple. "I want my wife." Sanders looked over at Don. "Do you understand me? I want Juliet. That is the only way you get her back."

Don replied with a single nod. Sanders grabbed Sam's arm and started tugging her over to the open door as Don watched through narrowed eyes.

"You have one half hour to comply. Meet me in the parking lot at 85th and Laird, with Juliet," Sanders instructed, slowly exiting from the room and holding Sam between himself and Don. "Or come later, and pick up the body."

Don gripped his bo so tightly Sam expected to hear the wood protest. "Just take him out," Sam said, directing her statement to Don. Don's eyes flickered to her, and then to the gun at her head. There was no margin for error. If Sanders pulled the trigger … Don knew he was fast, but he was briefly overwhelmed with the doubt that he was fast enough. "Just do it," Sam repeated, but she could see that Don had made up his mind to let them go.

"So much as a scratch," Don warned, and Sam's eyes widened at his furious tone. "And you only live long enough to see sunrise."

Sanders grinned, peering over Sam's head. "Sunrise is hours away. A great deal may happen between now and then."

Don shook his head, his eyes feral slits behind his mask, and in the uncertain light of the room he was an eerie demon with shining eyes. "I'll make it last. Don't worry. You'll get to see sunrise before I let you die."

"Say goodbye to your frog prince, Gallagher," Sanders bit out, as he dragged her out of the room.

* * *

Mike spread the blanket carefully. Juliet set the basket down in the center, and Noelle plunked down on a corner expectantly. Mike opened up the top of the basket, and Juliet lightly slapped his hand. 

"Hey!" he protested, drawing his hand back and clutched it with a wounded expression as though it hurt terribly. Juliet ignored this, and dug out paper plates from the basket, passing them around. She then retrieved a bag of chips, and started filling the plates.

It had been her idea to have a late night 'carpet picnic' in the middle of the lair. She had hoped Rachel would join them, and everyone could make peace. When she had gone upstairs to invite her eldest daughter, Rachel had said she wasn't hungry. Juliet hadn't pushed – for now.

Noelle picked up a chip, and started munching on it, dropping crumbs liberally into her lap. Mike set a cup of juice in front of the little girl, and opened a can of soda.

"Not quite the same as being outside," Mike noted. Juliet smiled, but then she noticed Mike sit up straight and look past her shoulder. She turned her head to see Rachel crossing the lair. The girl's eyes were still red from crying, and her body language – arms crossed over her chest and head down – was closed off.

Rachel stepped up to the blanket, and stood stiffly for a moment, her eyes on her shoes. Juliet held her breath.

"I'm sorry, Mike," Rachel offered in a less than genuine tone. Mike, though, decided to take the olive branch.

"Apology accepted. You want to join us?" Rachel nodded, and knelt down on the edge of the blanket. Juliet set a plate down in front of the girl, and Mike held up a sandwich. "Egg salad, or …"

"Guys!" Don shouted, tearing in from the elevator when the door had barely opened. He charged over to where Mike and Juliet were sitting on the floor. Leo, hearing the shout, rushed out of Splinter's room. "Sam's been kidnapped!"

* * *

"We have to go," Don argued from his spot at the head of the kitchen table. Leo frowned from the other end, and glanced over at Juliet. 

"It's dangerous," Leo noted. "We don't know exactly what he has planned."

"It's open ground," Raph added. "Not much for hiding places."

Don looked at the clock anxiously. The minutes were ticking by as the debate continued. "We have no choice."

"You can't put Juliet out there with no plan," Mike protested sharply. "Look, I like Sam too, but we can't just throw Juliet out there with no idea what we're doing!"

"Mike," Don started.

"It doesn't matter if there's a plan," Juliet said softly, interrupting Don. "I owe it to her." Mike hopped off the counter, and squatted down near Juliet's chair.

"Babe, you can't," Mike disagreed, looking up at her. He saw the firm resolve on her face, and felt his stomach clench with fear. "No."

"It is not your choice, Michaelangelo," Splinter noted gently from near the door. "Your children are in bed now, Juliet, and sleeping soundly. I will watch over them for you."

"Thank you," Juliet responded. She touched Mike's cheek, and then rose to her feet. She walked out of the kitchen without another word, and walked up the steps to the room where her daughters were curled under the blankets on their mattress.

She stood over them, and watched them breathe and dream. All of her fighting and fleeing, and she still couldn't escape him. He returned even after she had died to strike out at those around her. Would it never stop? Here, finally, she had found a place for her daughters to be safe. Splinter would watch over them, and no matter what happened tonight, Mike would be there to guide and protect them.

Juliet turned and stepped out of the room. She entered Sam's bedroom, and walked straight to the dresser. She had been married to an FBI agent, and all law enforcement officers had certain things in common. Opening the first drawer, she conducted a brief search. But the second drawer bore fruit. Juliet held up the object before her eyes, and gathered her rage around herself like a cloak. This was going to end tonight – no matter the cost.

* * *

A customized armored car pulled into an empty parking lot at quarter to one in the morning. Don looked through the windshield at the car parked opposite. He keyed off the engine, and got out of his seat. In the back, Mike and Juliet sat together, holding hands. 

"It's time," Don stated. Juliet nodded, and released Mike's fingers. Don opened the back doors, and he climbed out, helping Juliet to the ground. Mike jumped down, and studied the area. Somewhere in the dark, Leo and Raph were trying to outflank Sanders. The coverage was bad, though.

"Okay," Juliet said brightly. "Show time." Mike ground his teeth together to keep from pleading with her to stay: to forget Sam and just go back home. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tightly.

"I feel like I'm never going to see you again," Mike admitted, his voice husky. Juliet hugged him back.

"Look after the girls, okay?" Juliet asked, keeping her tone light. She did not want to start crying, or she would never go through with it. She let go first, and backed away.

Juliet stepped around the armored truck. Across the parking lot, the passenger door opened on the dark car. Greg climbed out, followed by Sam. Juliet swallowed as she noted the gray duct tape over Sam's mouth.

"Send her over," Sanders called out.

"Take your time," Don whispered from behind Juliet. "Give Raph and Leo a chance to get in place." Juliet nodded slightly, and then started to walk.

Greg shoved Sam roughly between the shoulder blades, and she, too, started across the empty lot. As they drew closer to one another, Juliet noted with dismay that Sam's hands were bound in front with the same tape. Seconds seems like an eternity until the two met in the center of the lot.

Juliet stopped directly in front of Sam, and the former Agent's eyes widened with surprise as she felt cold metal brush against her fingers. She opened her hands to accept the gun grip of her backup weapon.

"On three," Juliet said softly. Here, in the middle of the pavement, they were far enough away from the others that no one could hear her words. Sam nodded, and adjusted her handle on the gun. "One …"

"Juliet, get over here now!" Sanders shouted. Don, standing near the armored car, scanned the darkness beyond the parking lot for any sign of Leo and Raph.

"Two …," Juliet whispered, taking a single step to Sam's left side.

Keeping so low that his plastron brushed the concrete, Leo crept up on the parked car and crouched behind it.

"Three." Juliet dropped down, and Sam spun around, arms out and in firing position. Two gunshots ripped through the silence. For a moment, no one moved, and then Sanders slid to the ground, his eyes already glazing over as the bullet wound in his chest took his life.

Juliet climbed to her feet, her heart starting to beat again. She looked at her former husband as blood soaked the front of his shirt, and tried to feel some remorse for her actions. There was none. Next to her, she felt Sam stagger against her. The gun Sam had been holding clattered to the ground.

"Help!" Juliet cried out, her arms moving to catch the other woman as she began to tip over. Other hands – strong hands – were there to take the weight and lower Sam to the ground. Seeing the wound in Sam's abdomen, Juliet put her hands over it, seeking to stop the flow of blood. But there was so much, and Sam's face was already starting to turn pale. "No," Juliet denied brokenly. Not this. Her freedom could not come at this price.

End of Book 3

Continued in Book 4 'Rest in Peace'


	18. Rest In Peace 1

Title: Rest in Peace (Book 4 from 'Cat and Mouse')

Author: Jayde

Rating: PG-13 for stuff

Summary: The final book in this series.

Disclaimer: I do not own the turtles, Casey, April, or Splinter. I do own several pairs of knitting needles.

Author's Notes: Well, it's the end. I have to say that this has been fun, and I will probably write something a little longer again as I have managed to get through this without pulling out all of my hair. As it is the end, you will note that the sections are a little shorter, and the whole thing is fewer chapters. I only have a little more to say, you see.

To Fallen Hikari: No evil laugh is needed here. There are no more cliffhangers. (In this story!)

To Reluctant Dragon: Your well reasoned and probing reviews have been fantastic to read. Thank you for every last one of them.

To Bubbly Shell: Enjoy your spring break, and I expect a comment when you return!

To pacphys: I believe Don could do well with torture … but that's another story.

To Reinbeauchaser: Yes, I think I'm improving at building tension, but that isn't really going to be the case here. The storm is dying down. This is about tying up loose ends, and finding some sense of closure for the story lines. And for the record, I always use a beta reader and/or editor. I am a bit of a perfectionist (Sassy can now attest to this).

To Sassy, who has generously beta read each book – thank you. I couldn't have done it without your encouragement and helpful suggestions.

Chapter 1:

"The wireless customer you are trying to reach is not available …"

"Damn," the clerk said, slamming down the phone into the cradle with a bang. A nurse, passing by, stopped to stare at her. The clerk offered a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

"Problems, Gina?" the nurse asked sympathetically, setting her pile of charts down on the reception counter.

Gina rubbed at the back of her neck as she tried to explain her predicament. "I've called this number at least nine times. And it's the only one listed on the patient contact list." The clerk sighed, and showed the open file folder to the nurse. The nurse studied the name for a moment.

"Samantha Gallagher. It says that she's with the FBI. Don't they know how to contact her?" the nurse inquired.

Gina shook her head. "They said she quit a while back."

"Well, keep trying. Someone has to be notified, and she is next of kin," the nurse offered. She turned away to head down a hallway decorated in mute and soothing colors. Her shoes squeaked on the polished floors as she passed by the rooms. It was really too bad about Mr. Gallagher, she thought as she continued on her rounds. Even worse was that his daughter couldn't be located to receive the news.

* * *

Juliet leaned forward in the hard plastic chair, and rested her head in her hands. The quiet hubbub of the hallway was grating on her nerves. Nurses and doctors hurried back and forth, patients were wheeled by occasionally, and family members gathered in anxious knots, speaking softly together. 

She, of course, had no one to talk to while she waited. After Sam had been shot, the guys had realized they had to leave – they couldn't wait with Juliet for the ambulance to come. It had wrenched Mike to leave Juliet there alone with a rapidly cooling body, and an injured Samantha.

And Don … Juliet shivered as she recalled the desperation in his eyes as Leo and Raph pulled him away. Leo had made the call to the authorities, and the four of them had driven away to wait at the lair.

Sitting alone in the parking lot in the dead hours of the morning, her hands pressed to the wound in Sam's mid-section, Juliet had pleaded with a higher power for some aid. Within fifteen minutes, she had heard the scream of approaching sirens. It hadn't really been that long. When the ambulance arrived to take charge of Sam, the woman had still been breathing.

But it had been hours in this hallway, and no word had come on Sam. If she died … Juliet didn't know how she would live with that.

"Excuse me," a soft, masculine voice interrupted her thoughts. Juliet glanced up to find a black haired man of medium height peering down at her. "Are you Juliet Sanders?"

"Yes," Juliet whispered in reply. She took in the badge in the man's front coat pocket, and the gun under his jacket. Would she be arrested now?

"I'm Detective Dan Wa," he introduced. "Has the doctor come out yet? Is Sam alright?" Dan questioned anxiously. Juliet felt her fears for her self swirl away.

"No. Nothing," she reported briefly. Dan nodded unhappily, and sat down in the chair next to hers.

"It's over," he said after a moment, startling her a little. "You know that, right?" Juliet looked sideways at him with a puzzled frown. "The FBI contacted me already. You are no longer wanted for questioning, but if there's anything you wanted to tell me …" Dan left it hanging there, but Juliet failed to respond. She only blinked, and Dan sighed. "There will be no charges from the shooting – for you or Sam. So, don't worry," Dan reassured, summing up his little speech. Juliet smiled a little, and slumped down in her chair with relief.

So she really was free, but the weight of guilt and worry remained. The doors at the far end of the hallway banged open, and a doctor dressed in messy scrubs approached them. Juliet stood up, as did Dan.

"Ms. Sanders?" the doctor questioned as he reached them. Juliet nodded, her throat too tight to allow her to speak. "I have some news."

* * *

"How many pancakes, Rachel?" 

"None," the girl replied morosely, staring down at her plate. Noelle, sitting next to her, swung her feet back and forth, kicking her sister's chair. "Stop it!" Rachel snarled, and Noelle stopped … for about a second before smacking her tennis shoes into the rungs of the chair again.

"You gotta have at least a couple," Mike insisted, pouring the batter onto the hot griddle. "Noelle, stop kicking your sister's chair and eat," Mike instructed. He heard the relentless banging stop, and the little girl start to chew.

"Where's Mom?" Rachel asked. Mike glanced over at Leo, who was leaning against the kitchen counter and doing a pretty good impression of nonchalance.

"She's with Sam. She'll be back soon," Mike said, expertly turning a pancake. He pleaded silently that there would be no other questions in that vein until Juliet was back, safe and sound.

"I wanna watch cartoons!" Noelle complained suddenly. The tension in the room raised a notch, and Rachel frowned down at the table.

"Not today," Mike answered, moving two pancakes to a plate. They were keeping the television off – just in case any news reports were out on a certain FBI agent's death. Not the way Rachel should learn about her father's death. "Leo, you want pancakes?" Mike asked a little desperately.

"Sure," Leo said. He remained at the counter, however, watching Don pacing in their living area.

* * *

Nothing was right about this. Not the stark white sheets on the bed, the pale green walls, or the monitors beeping at her bedside. Dan sat down in the hideous guest chair and leaned forward to touch the back of her hand. 

"Hey," he said, and watched her eyes flutter open to regard him. "You must have nine lives."

"How many you think I have left?" Sam whispered faintly, her voice hoarse and strange. It matched her pale face and dull eyes.

"Not enough," Dan replied dryly to cover his relief. She had scared him this time. "Can't be more than three or four."

Sam nodded a little. "I think I'll try and save one for the holidays," she husked, glancing around the room. A little life was starting to flicker in her expression. "Juliet?"

Dan shook his head same old Sam trying to save the world. "She's fine," he responded, leaning back in his chair to observe her from under lowered lashes. "She got a ride 'home' from Casey Jones." Sam said nothing, refusing to rise to this bait from her friend. Instead, she looked over at the window.

"What time is it?"

"Almost six. You've missed the whole day." Dan stood up, and straightened his jacket. "You should get some rest." She looked so weak lying there – so completely unlike her normal self.

* * *

"Hey, Guys," Casey called out companionably as he arrived in the lair. Beside him walked a weary brunette who was greeted with shouts of childish glee, and one very relieved turtle. 

Mike walked Juliet over to the sofa with an arm around her. She leaned on him shamelessly – she was so tired she just felt like dropping, but there was more yet to do. Across the coffee table, she met Don's worried gaze and gifted him with a reassuring smile and thumbs up. It was like sunlight broke out behind his eyes as the relief appeared there.

"Are you okay, Mom?" Rachel questioned, keeping close as Juliet sat down on the couch.

"Yeah, sweetie," Juliet replied, running her fingers through her daughter's fine hair. "Just been a long night. But everything is okay now," she added firmly. Mike raised his eye ridges, and everyone looked a little curious as to what, exactly, that meant. "Sam is going to be fine. She's out of surgery, and the prognosis is very positive," Juliet explained, getting to what she considered to be the most important news. "She should be out of the hospital in a week, or maybe less."

Don received a hearty slap on the shell from Raph. Feeling considerably better, Don sat down on a chair to hear the rest of the story.

"Any trouble from the authorities?" Leo asked, standing in front of the television screens. Juliet shook her head.

"None, apparently," Juliet said. Rachel frowned at the grownups in confusion.

"What happened to Sam?" the girl questioned. Everyone exchanged glances, but only one person could really answer Rachel's question.

"Sam was hurt. She was shot, but she's going to be okay," Juliet clarified quickly. She watched her daughter carefully, seeing the information soak in.

"Who did it?" Rachel asked, and Juliet's heart thudded hard in her chest. It was one of those terrible moments in parenting when it was tempting to lie – to bury the truth, because it was going to hurt. "Was it my dad?"

Mike's mouth dropped open in surprise, but Juliet realized that Rachel must have been putting things together for the past few hours. She was eight, but she was also very clever.

"Yes. Yes, it was," Juliet said openly. Lying would have been easier, but in the long haul it would have eventually come back to damage their relationship. "Rachel, I know this is hard to understand …"

"Is he in the hospital, too? I want to go see him," Rachel demanded, but her mother's sad expression gave her an answer. "Mom?" Juliet held out her arms. For a moment, it seemed as though Rachel wouldn't accept comfort, but then she broke, diving into her mother's lap to start sobbing brokenheartedly.

Little Noelle, forgotten in the excitement, climbed up to sit beside Mike. The turtle lifted the little girl onto his lap and cuddled her. There were no tears in her eyes, but she could not be expected to understand what had changed. Mike laid a hand on Juliet's shoulder, wordlessly offering his support.

Rachel looked up at the green, three fingered hand that had intruded, and then she hid her face against her mother's neck. Juliet wrapped her arms around her eldest child, and let her cry.


	19. Rest in Peace 2

Title: Rest in Peace (Book 4 from 'Cat and Mouse')

Author: Jayde

Rating: PG-13 for stuff

Summary: The final book in this series.

Disclaimer: I do not own the turtles, Casey, April, or Splinter. I do own several pairs of knitting needles.

Chapter 2:

It was the sounds that wouldn't let her sleep. The squeak of shoes passing by her door at regular intervals, the steady beep of the I.V. by her bed, and the hum of a major metropolitan hospital all around her. She opened her eyes, giving up to stare at the ceiling above.

By rights, she should be dead now.

Sam shifted on the bed, and then winced at the pain in her stomach. It was a reminder of her brush with mortality, and all the decisions that had led to this. Had she been right about anything? Leaving the FBI, chasing Bright, hiding Juliet? Every single thing could now be reviewed, picked at, and brought under scrutiny because there was nowhere else to run.

Shooting Sanders? Had she had any choice in that? The moments of firing the bullet – of seeing him fall – replayed in her mind over and over. A fellow agent, a father, and she had shot him in cold blood. Could she have made that come out differently if she had tried?

That was the first time, in her entire law enforcement career, that she had actually fired her weapon outside of a training situation. Her first kill.

Sam's mouth twitched down, and she felt hot tears gather in her eyes. When had her entire life become a series of mistakes and mishaps that endangered everyone around her? This hadn't been in her plan – her grand scheme to show her father that she was worth his time and energy. And when that hadn't worked, she had found herself loving her career for itself. For the good she had thought she could do.

And what about the lives she had messed up? Her tears were starting to dry already. Don, and his brothers – had they been spotted through all of this? But if they had, then Dan would have mentioned it. No, their secret must still be safe in spite of her screw-ups.

And Russell! If it weren't for the IV in her hand, she would have slapped her forehead. She had forgotten to tell anyone about Russell, and his bus. His grandmother was waiting for him, and Sam had no way of getting in touch with her. She glanced around the room, but she didn't see her cell phone. She couldn't talk to anyone just now. She was alone with only her thoughts for company.

* * *

"Block him! Come on, Russell!" 

The boy grunted with effort and brought his forearm up again, and then he danced to one side and leveled a kick at his attacker's knee.

"Sneaky little …," Raph muttered as Russell's tennis shoe connected solidly. Raph turned his body, and made an exaggerated move to sweep the boy's legs out from under him. Russell reacted in a timely manner, and got out of the way. He attempted to retaliate, but Raph was ready and caught the punch neatly.

Leo, circling the pair, continued to offer up encouragement. "That's okay Russell. Try again." The boy nodded, his eyes narrowed with concentration as he shook it off and started a new attack. It had been questionable – pitting Raphael against a youth who was new to the entire idea of sparring, but it was working out very well. Raph, out of everyone at the lair, was not distracted. He was giving his complete and undivided attention to the exercise, and he was actually trying to help.

For his part, Leo had managed to bite his tongue before commenting on this. Instead, he orchestrated the session, and ignored it every time he saw the slightest sign of a smile on his brother's face.

On the sidelines, Splinter sat quietly and observed the match. It was not what he would have done in his son's place, but this was Leo's time and opportunity. His son was stretching his skills and learning what it was to educate others. Making mistakes was part of the process. Next to the venerable rat sat two little girls, also watching the goings on in the practice area. Splinter had taken on the task of keeping the two occupied, as Juliet and Mike needed to have a discussion regarding the future.

Freedom. Splinter could only imagine how the young woman must have felt to realize that the burden of her ex-husband's madness was no longer a threat to her or her children. But at the same time, this change must affect others, and most particularly Michaelangelo.

* * *

Sometimes there is just no easy way. 

"Are you leaving?" Mike asked, his head down. They were sitting in the back of the converted armored car that his brothers had affectionately nicknamed 'the battle shell'. It was the only place Mike could think of to have a private talk. But once in here, he had struggled over how to start.

"What?" Juliet replied. She studied the top of Mike's head for a moment. "Mike, come on. Look at me."

He raised his eyes reluctantly. "Are you leaving?" he asked again.

"Mike, what makes you think that …"

"You don't have to stay … now," Mike interrupted, but his voice was soft and reflected his worry. His hands were wrapped together and pressed between his knees – just in case they started shaking. The idea of being without Juliet and her daughters was like looking into a future without sight – it was just darkness.

"I'm not going to just …"

"I know that it would be really hard to stay here. The girls need school and friends," Mike interjected, running right over whatever Juliet had been about to say. She bit her lip as Mike continued, his words tumbling faster. "And you probably want to go back to work, and have curtains again." He took a breath, and Juliet opened her mouth to speak. "But it could work," Mike said earnestly, cutting her off yet again. "I'm willing to do whatever needs to be done to make it work, Juliet."

"Mike …"

He slipped out of his seat, and dropped to his knees in front of her. Mike took her hand in his, holding it like it was the most precious thing in the world to him.

"Marry me," he stated. Her eyes widened comically. "Okay, so we can't really get married, but we could do something like that. But I want it to be permanent."

"Mike …"

"I know it sounds crazy," Mike replied before even hearing whatever it was she wanted to say. Fed up, Juliet clapped her free hand over his mouth.

"Jesus Mike, will you let me talk?" she groused. He nodded slowly, but he looked like he was waiting for the axe to fall. "I'm not going anywhere." She wasn't certain that he heard her, because he was frozen in the same expression. "Mike, I'm serious. I'm not going anywhere – not unless you had some idea of moving."

"But," he mumbled from behind her hand.

"I'm not saying it will be easy," she explained, starting to smile. "In fact, it will probably be really tough, but you're right. We'll make it work." Behind her fingers, he was grinning. Juliet took her hand away, and caressed his cheek with it instead. "And the answer is yes." She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his smiling mouth.

* * *

Striding down the hallway early in the morning, Dan swung the bunch of carnations and returned the smile of a passing nurse. Finding the room he needed, he turned in to find the bed empty. He only wore a puzzled expression for a moment before finding the bed's former occupant. Dropping the flowers he had brought on the bed, Dan posed a question to his friend. "Are you supposed to be up?" 

Sam, her back to him as she shuffled around the room in gown, robe, and slippers, grunted noncommittally. Instead she continued to hunt through the hospital room, checking every surface.

"What are you looking for?" Dan asked.

"My phone," she replied impatiently.

"Sam, sit down. If you need to contact someone I can do it for you," Dan placated. It earned him a frown, but Sam did hobble back to her bed, and sit down gingerly, her arm across her stomach. Every time she sat down, or stood up, it felt like her insides were going to spill on the floor. Dan pulled up a chair, and dug out a small notebook and pen. "Now, who am I calling?"

"You're going to love this …" Sam noted, her expression brightening a little.

* * *

Don glanced at his phone in annoyance, and put down his soldering iron. It was mid-morning, the day after Sam had gone into the hospital. It frustrated him to no end that he hadn't heard from her, and that he could not risk going to see her. 

He picked up the phone, and looked at the number displayed. It was completely unfamiliar.

"Hello," he said, giving in and answering it. Rapid breathing sounded on the other end. "Hello?"

"Is this, um, Don?" an unfamiliar male voice asked on the other end. Don, completely taken aback, wondered whom this could be. "Sam gave me the number."

"Is she alright?" Don questioned anxiously. Could this be someone from the hospital?

"She's fine," the voice dismissed easily. "But she asked me to call about Russell."

Don leaned against the edge of his worktable. "May I ask who you are?"

"Oh, sorry. Dan Wa. I'm an old friend of Sam's," Dan explained quickly. "I'm just thrilled to finally talk to you. You know, I helped Sam find you guys …"

Don was only half listening as Dan rambled on. Dan Wa. This was the detective Sam had called on when they came up with the plan to fake Juliet's death. An old college friend, Sam had said. And he had seen Sam, obviously, because she had asked him to call.

"What did you need to tell me about Russell?" Don interrupted, a little coldly.

"He's supposed to catch a bus to go to his grandmother's. She lives up in Fishkill," Dan explained, slowing down a bit. "I could come by and get him – take him to the bus for you," he offered.

Don's expression soured further at that idea.

* * *

"I'll be fine," Russell commented, his eyes on the view out the windshield of the battle shell. Don had politely declined the police detective's help in delivering Russell to his bus. Leo was glad; because this was something he wanted to do. 

"I know you will," Leo replied, standing just behind the front seats. They had parked in an alley across from the bus station, and all that remained now was for Russell to take his bag and walk to the station. That, and to do the hardest part – say goodbye.

"You won't be able to tell your grandmother where you were," Leo instructed gently. Russell turned his eyes to his mentor, and grinned lopsidedly.

"I'm not stupid, sensei. I know it's a secret," Russell said. Raphael chuckled a little from the driver's seat.

"You've got money, and our number if you need us," Leo added. Russell nodded, still smiling a little.

"Come on kid," Raph said, interrupting his brother's endless delaying. "Go get your bus."

Russell stood up, and put out his hand to Raph. Surprised, the turtle took it and accepted the handshake. "Thanks, man. I won't forget it," Russell stated, and then he turned to Leo. He offered his hand, and Leo took it gravely. "I won't forget any of it, sensei."

Russell let go first, and picked up his bag. It contained clothes and some snacks that the guys had packed up for the boy. Leo opened the back door, and Russell jumped down on his own.

"Be careful," Leo said, getting in the last word. He shut the door, and walked back to the front of the car to sit in the passenger seat. The two brothers observed in silence as Russell hurried across the street and entered the bus station. He was out of sight now.

"You did the right thing," Raph said, and Leo looked over at him in surprise.

'I had to …" Leo began. "I had no right …"

"He'll be alright, bro," Raph reassured. "You gave him something, you know? Something he can hang on to when it gets tough." Leo raised his eye ridges in question. "You're gonna make me say it aren't you?" A smile tugged at the corners of Leo's wide mouth. "You were a good example, okay? Damn, Leo," Raph said, his tone laced with annoyance as he started the engine. "Don't make me do that again."


	20. Rest in Peace 3

Title: Rest in Peace (Book 4 from 'Cat and Mouse')

Author: Jayde

Rating: PG-13 for stuff

Summary: The final book in this series.

Disclaimer: I do not own the turtles, Casey, April, or Splinter. I do own several pairs of knitting needles.

Pacphys: You don't like the title of this book? You think it might be foreshadowing something? Leo and Raph and sweet … But yeah, I wanted to give Raph a nice scene or two in this book.

Rizzle: I'm hurrying! I'm glad you liked the series, but it has to end eventually. As for a sequel … I'll talk about that in the final chapter.

Reinbeauchaser: When I get chapter 4 up, I'm going to add a little something at the end about how this story changed from the original outline. I thought you all might be amused at what the original was going to be like. But as for the speed of updates – it's faster when everything is laid out, and then I'm just filling in the blank spots.

Fallen Hikari: Well, I guess the end of this chapter is a minor cliffie. So, maybe an evil snicker.

Chapter 3:

One week later …

Free at last. Sam glanced down ruefully at her oversized NYPD sweatshirt – brought by Dan the day before so she would have something to wear that wasn't bloodstained. He had also brought a pair of his wife's jeans – again a little too big and too long, but Sam wasn't about to complain.

Dan had offered to go to the lair and pick up her clothes, but Sam could only imagine Raphael's response to that. She would be there soon enough, and then she could get her own clothes. That is, if she was still welcome. If only she had her phone … But the things she needed to say to Don couldn't be said over a phone. It would have to wait until she could see him in person.

A nurse finally showed up at the desk with Sam's personal effects. There, inside the bag, was her missing phone. She cradled it in her palm, and noted that there was voice mail. It rang, suddenly; startling her so much she almost dropped it.

"Hi," she answered it a little shakily.

"Sam!" Juliet said loudly and cheerfully in her ear. Sam grimaced, but she was also smiling. "Where are you?"

"I'm just leaving the hospital," Sam replied. In the sleepless nights in her hospital bed she had wondered if she had done the right thing in shooting Sanders. But here was the proof that maybe it was karmic justice after all.

"I wanted to invite you … Noelle, stop teasing your sister! I wanted to invite you to my wedding," Juliet said. Sam rested against the admitting desk, feeling suddenly a little dizzy.

"Wedding?" she parroted blankly.

"Yeah!" Juliet enthused. "Well, not a 'wedding' wedding, but I want you to come. It's tonight. Will you be able to make it?"

"Yes," Sam responded, starting to recover from her shock. "Of course. I'll be there." She paused, feeling a little unreal. "Should I bring anything?"

"Just yourself, and dress up," Juliet instructed. Sam glanced down at her clothes again, and then at the clock behind the desk. It was just barely 4 p.m. She could maybe get Dan to stop at a store or something.

"How dressed up?" Sam questioned. Juliet's bright laughter in her ear brought Sam all the way over. She was back in the land of the living again. She hung up a moment later as her discharge papers arrived. Sam signed on each line that she would not sue the doctor or the hospital, and that she could in fact look after herself and take her medication. That business complete, Sam moved over to the waiting area. Dan was picking her up in a few minutes, and the voice mail on her phone beckoned.

She listened to the first message, and each of the following nine messages, and her brief moment of happiness melted away. A pain welled up inside her that was far worse than that of her gunshot wound. And no surgery could cut this out of her.

* * *

"You look like a moron in that tie," Raphael noted from his spot on Mike's bed. He was lounging, and poking fun at the groom. As was his right as 'best turtle'. 

"No he doesn't," Rachel shot back defensively. "Now stay still," she said, directing this instruction to Mike, who was trying to look down at the tie she was attempting to affix around his neck. "You have to wear a tie." Mike attempted to remain unmoving, sitting on the floor of his room. Soon, this would be 'their' room. That decision had been made after Rachel expressed an interest in having her own space away from her little sister.

"Make it tighter," Raph suggested, but he couldn't keep a straight face.

"Uncle Raph, would you be quiet?" Rachel asked snottily. Raph chuckled, and hauled himself up off the bed.

"You want a drink, bro?" he asked Mike. The groom shook his head a little bit, earning a glare from Rachel as he knocked her knot askew. Raph left the room, and shut the door behind him.

"Rach, you sure this is okay with you?" Mike questioned. Everything was happening very quickly, and Rachel had been uncharacteristically quiet on the subject of this ceremony.

The girl shrugged, and let go of the stubborn garment. "It's still weird, you know?" Mike nodded, and started tying the tie himself. "But I think you're okay." Mike kept his head down, and smiled a little at that. It was quite a compliment, coming from Rachel. He started straightening the ends of the tie. "I'm not going to call you Dad," she said, and he looked up to meet her eyes. "I'm just not going to, but Noelle will." Rachel shrugged a little self-consciously. "She needs a Dad."

"You can just call me 'Mike'," he said, finished with his tie. Rachel touched it briefly, and gave him a real smile of welcome.

"Did you write your vows and stuff?" Rachel queried, abruptly ending the moment.

"Damn!" Mike exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

"You didn't! But it's almost time!" Rachel scolded, running over to the desk for a piece of paper. Mike dug up a pencil, and they sat on the bed to start writing. "You have to say something about loyalty and love and being sick and stuff," Rachel said.

"Yeah?" Mike replied, starting to make notes.

* * *

Huddled on the rooftop of the warehouse, Casey and April shared an umbrella. Master Splinter and Mike also stood under an umbrella only a couple of feet away. 

"Doesn't rain mean something on your wedding day?" Casey asked. Mike peeked up at the sky, and shook his head. At least it wasn't cold, but maybe they should have done this in the lair.

"Yeah, bad luck," Raph quipped. He grunted when his master's walking stick struck the middle of his plastron.

"It means fertility," Don noted from near the ledge. He stood without an umbrella, and he was watching the street. Casey's face flushed, and Raph laughed out loud.

"Great. More kids," Raph said, earning a second hit from Master Splinter. "Master Splinter, what?"

"Quiet. They are coming," Splinter said tersely. The door to the roof opened slowly, and a large green umbrella opened. Leo stepped out first, and he paused to take Juliet's arm while sheltering her from the light rain. Once the pair was clear of the door, April sighed to see the little girls under a Hello Kitty umbrella coming out next. Rachel held the umbrella as Noelle was too taken with watching her patent leather shoes splashing in the puddles of water that had gathered on the rooftop.

April had spent nearly an entire day searching for the wedding clothes. She had lucked into two matched dresses at a thrift shop for the girls, but her true find had been Juliet's dress. April put a hand on her husband's arm, and smiled up at him. He had run around like a madman during the day to get three bouquets. It was their small gift to the couple.

Walking slowly, and trying to keep the hem of her dress out of the water, Juliet headed over to where Mike was waiting. Leo took her right hand, and placed it in Mike's without any cue. He also handed over the umbrella before stepping back to wait with the others. Rachel and Noelle stood near their mother, and Noelle dropped her bouquet to start tussling with Rachel for control of the small umbrella.

"Girls," Master Splinter admonished, shaking his head. Noelle, cowed for the moment, stood quietly.

"Thank you," Mike began. "Thank you for braving the rain to hang out with us up here." Juliet wrinkled up her nose, and smiled.

"We'll make it brief. We promise," Juliet added. "Um, I'll start." Mike nodded, and took the umbrella from her to make it easier. She took a deep breath, and began. "It seems like we haven't been together that long."

"That's because you haven't," Raph was heard to mutter, but he was further away from Master Splinter this time.

"Okay, so we haven't," Juliet agreed, unruffled. "But it doesn't change how I feel. I've never been so happy," she admitted, and Mike beamed. "I think that someone was watching over us, and that we were brought here for a reason – so I could meet you, Mike, and I could love you." Noelle started splashing again, but Rachel was watching her mother's face. "I promise I will always love you, and that this is only the beginning." Juliet's voice started to waver a little with emotion. "I promise to stick by you, and listen to you, and laugh at your jokes."

"That's love," Casey whispered, and April elbowed him in the side.

"My turn?" Mike questioned, as Juliet wiped at her eyes with her free hand. She nodded silently. "I can't make you a lot of promises," he said, and Splinter nearly dropped his umbrella in surprise. "I don't have anything to offer other than what I've already been doing. I promise I'll be here for you, no matter what," Mike said softly, and Juliet's eyes started to well with tears again. "I'll look after you, and Rachel and Noelle."

Don turned away, and looked out at the rainy street, his heart heavy.

"I love you, Juliet."

"Can we go in now? My socks are wet!" Noelle complained.

* * *

In a black car, on a silent street where the rain had just let up, two people were having a minor disagreement. 

"Come back to the house, and I'll bring you here in the morning," Dan protested, but Sam just shook her head and stared out the windshield at the dark trees. They had buried her father without her – just followed his last wishes. She had missed the whole thing.

Sam opened the passenger door of the car, and climbed out.

"Sam …," Dan started.

"Go home," Sam instructed gently. "Say hi to Beth for me, and tell her thanks for the clothes." The words had no feeling behind them at all. It was said by rote. She shut the car door, and started across the damp grass, stepping carefully around the headstones.

The other car door opened, and Dan stepped out.

"Sam, don't do this right now."

Sam stopped, her shoulders hunched. She had to do it now. If she didn't do it now, then she didn't know if she would ever have it in her again to face this. "I'm supposed to be at a wedding right now," she whispered, but she didn't think Dan could hear her. "I need to be alone," she said more loudly. After a moment, the car door shut. He didn't drive away, though. He would wait as long as needed. Sam continued through the shadowed cemetery, her eyes on the ground.

* * *

It had been a while since their home had seemed so filled with sound and movement. Everyone was gathered to have cake. The little girls sat at the kitchen table, and Noelle had managed to get frosting on her nose. Juliet was wiping it off, when she saw Don enter the room. 

"Hey," she called. "Have you heard from Sam?" Don shook his head, and opened the fridge. Juliet straightened up from her task, and watched the turtle until he had the fridge door closed again. "I'm worried."

Don toyed with the soda can for a moment"So am I," he admitted.

"She left the hospital this afternoon. She wouldn't have missed this, Don," Juliet continued. Setting down the can on the counter, Don retrieved his phone from his belt. He checked back through his incoming calls until he found the number.

It rang an agonizing three times before it was picked up.

"Dan Wa." The words sounded very distant, and very sad.

"Detective Wa? This is Don." The turtle picked up his soda again, and fingered the tab top. "I'm trying to find Sam …"

"She's here," Dan replied, his tone still heavy. "We're … We're at Gethsemane Cemetery." Don's eyes widened, and Juliet watched anxiously, trying to interpret his expression. "Could you come out here? I think someone needs to be with her right now, and I've got to go back in to work soon."

"Of … of course," Don stammered. "Who was it?"

"Her father," Dan said. "Do you think I could tell you on your way here? It's a long story."

"Yes," Don responded, setting down the soda and starting across the kitchen. "I'm leaving right now."

"Don," Juliet called. Don spun, and tried to give her a reassuring look.

"I have to go," Don stated. "I'll explain when I get back." Juliet nodded helplessly, and Don didn't say anything further. He moved through the lair quickly, only pausing to say something briefly to Leo before vanishing into the elevator.


	21. Rest in Peace 4

Title: Rest in Peace (Book 4 from 'Cat and Mouse')

Author: Jayde

Rating: PG-13 for stuff

Summary: The final book in this series.

Disclaimer: I do not own the turtles, Casey, April, or Splinter. I do own several pairs of knitting needles.

"_Hey Kid … Do wishes count at all_

_Can you give me a sign … give me anything I won't tell a soul you told_

_Hey Kid … Will you hold me while I sleep_

_Will you find me when the tide decides that I got to leave_

_Something inside me is breaking_

_Something inside says there's somewhere better than this"_

_Five for Fighting – "If God Made You"_

Chapter 4:

He found her just after 11 p.m. sitting on the grass at the foot of a fresh grave. The headstone was old, though, with new engraving on the left side. The name on the right was 'Margaret', but drifts of old flowers obscured the years.

Don sat down carefully beside her, and observed her profile. There was enough light here from the street to make out her pale face and the red lines marring her eyes. In her too big clothes, with her knees curled to her chest, she looked painfully young.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, her voice raspy and tired. "You should go away before you die too." She turned her head, and looked at him. Her expression was cold and distant. "I kill everyone, eventually. My mother, my brother, my partner, my career, Juliet's ex, my father …" She stumbled in her list, and turned back to the raw earth.

"This is not your fault," Don admonished gently.

"Isn't it?" she questioned bitterly. Sam scrubbed at her face with one of her hands.

"Sam …"

"It's a bout of self-pity, okay? Strangely, I think I'm allowed just now," she snapped.

He kept his peace for a few moments, letting her calm down. "What are you going to do?" he questioned after some minutes had passed.

She leaned her head back and looked up at the sky through the tree branches that arched overhead. "Dan offered to help me get in with the NYPD." Don nodded. "He also said I could stay with them … until I can get my own place."

Don flinched, but remained silent.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered. "For the things I said, I'm sorry. I didn't …" They were only inches apart, but Sam felt like there was a distance greater than the physical between them now. "I should not have tried to hurt you."

"Did you mean any of it?" Don asked. Sam squeezed her eyes shut, and lowered her head to rest it on her bent knees.

"No," she confessed. "But it doesn't change anything. I … I feel like I've been hit by thirteen trains, and I don't know how to get up and get it together."

"I'm here, Sam," Don offered, reaching out to touch her hair.

"No," Sam replied in a strangled voice, and Don froze, his hand in midair. "It would be easy," she said, raising her head. He removed his hand, and tried to quiet the squeezing pain inside. "It would be very easy to just let you carry me," she admitted. "But eventually we'd start to hate each other. You would hate that I had become a burden, and I would hate that you kept me from dealing with any of this."

Don swallowed thickly, and looked away. The hurt went deeper than he would admit at this moment. "Will you come back … just for tonight?"

She shook her head fiercely. "I don't want to keep disappointing you." There was such self-loathing in her voice.

Don stood up abruptly. Sam dragged herself to her feet as well, and theystood awkwardly together.

"Will I …" Don stopped his words with effort. He could not keep pinning his hopes on something that was, indeed, hopeless. Sam extended a hand, and laid it on his bicep. He was stiff and unyielding, but she didn't let that stop her. She moved into him and pressed her face to his neck.

Don wrapped his arms around her, and rested his cheek against her hair. Above them, a gust of wind shook the trees, and water left behind by the rains pattered down around them.

After Don left, melting away into the darkness, Sam remained staring at her father's final resting place.

Alone with the dead.

* * *

Five months later … 

Murder scenes are actually social occasions. Uniforms and plain clothes detectives milled about as the crime scene investigators took pictures. Sam, a steaming cup of coffee in her gloved hands, nodded at her new partner's thoughts on the crime as she watched the work commencing. It was a small city park, and the body was splayed across the jogging path.

She was back.

Dan, true to his word, had taken her to meet the right people in the department. She had found her way into the Homicide division, and she was back to investigating the evils of humanity. It felt damn good. She sipped her coffee to ward off the early winter chill. She had moved back into her old building a couple of months ago – she had been anxious to get out of Dan's house. His wife, Beth, was a sweetheart, but she was always trying to fix Sam up with someone. It was irritating as hell.

She hadn't seen Don since the night at her father's grave.

It had been her choice to cut contact. She couldn't keep on hurting him the way she had been. She couldn't keep seeing him – it wouldn't have been fair.

And she wasn't ready, yet.

She was healing, but it was a slow process. The grief was still alive and well inside of her – the ghosts still lived all around, and until she could let it go a little more she had to leave Don alone.

And hope he would still be there when she was ready. There was one thing she had meant to say, that she had wound up keeping to herself. When it was time, she hoped he would still be willing to hear it. She smiled a little, her lips pressed to the rim of her takeout cup.

"Hey, Gallagher, you plan on workin' any tonight?" her partner called. Sam put away her thoughts, and switched to her most sarcastic expression.

"What, you wanna solve this or something Taylor?"

"I thought it might be nice for the victim's family," Taylor retorted. "Go get some of the uniforms knockin' on doors. Maybe we'll get lucky with a witness." Sam nodded, and wandered out to the street that fronted the small park. On the sidewalk, she started prodding the officers to the task at hand. On impulse, she turned her head and looked down the street. Her eyes widened as a familiar silhouette appeared on a rooftop, bo staff in hand.

Sam raised her hand briefly, and the figure disappeared from sight. Sam smiled, suddenly more confident than before. He was still watching over her.

She turned away, and headed for a small store across the street. The proprietor may have heard or seen something. That brief glimpse had given her something to sustain her through the long night ahead. A fool's hope, perhaps, but she would take it anyway.

The end

Author's Notes: This has, more or less, followed the outline I wrote months ago. This is the way the end was always intended to go, and it hurt me, too. I grew attached to Sam while writing her. She is a complex character, and that means she doesn't get the easy road.

As promised … the stuff that changed from outline to writing:

Would you believe that in the original outline it was Leo and Sam, not Don and Sam? And it was far less, um, deep than the relationship turned out to be.

It would have resulted in screams of horror – Juliet was the one who was supposed to be shot at the end of book 3 … and she was originally slated to die. This altered book 4 considerably, since I chose to end with something happier.

Russell was originally younger, but that didn't seem to work with his personality and his plot line.

Sam was originally a DEA agent tracking a nefarious drug lord in the first book.

The whole thing started with me writing the fight scene between Raph and Sam on the rooftop. That was the very first thing written – the rest of the story was actually created from there.

Someone said something about a sequel … Okay, I won't keep you in suspense. You guys talked me into it. There will be a sequel. It's not going to come out right away, because I do still want a little break from Samantha. She's draining to write. The outline is partly done, and the title is 'Moth and Flame'.


End file.
